Mulvaney was Monaro born
and true to mountain breed
The only creed Mulvaney knew
was old Monaros creed
Never to leave a bucking colt
while girth and gear held fast
To take the lead when wild mobs broke
and see that nothing passed
Tired of cold Monaro snows
sick of the sleety rains
Mulvaney drifted far away
to Queenslands golden plains
And there on cattle camp and yard
he rode to deathless fame
Until today a legend glows
around Mulvaneys name
If there was scrubber mob to run
where midnight shadows stirred
If there was outlaw horse to ride
they sent Mulvaney word
For in a life where men were judged
by worth of bridle hand
Mulvaney was a King of Kings
a lord of cattle land
Oh there was rhythm in his hands
his seat was like a rock
And well he spoke the magic tongue
of Wizadry with stock
And now on Queenslands pastured wastes
are men who tell with pride
Of how they shook Mulvaneys hand
or saw Mulvaney ride
But one would find it easier
to stay the shifting sands
Than set a bound to lives of men
who ride the grazing lands
This year they come, next year they go,
and few know where theyve gone
For like the dust the west wind whirls
they too have drifted on
So God knows where Mulvaney is
or if he rides today
His name alone remains a flame
that cannot fade away
Where grizzled stockmen teach their sons
the horsemens secret code
And pray that they may someday ride
as Jim Mulvaney rode
Lex McLennan
This poem is courtesy of Neil Mulvaney..aka...Stone the Crows
'Mulvaney' is the story of his Great -Grand Uncle...I think!
.A great tribute to a man who obviously was highly respected and well known far and wide back in the day's of yore!...Lex McLennan did a great job of his tribute to the man. Thank you Neil.
