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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408941" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Teams</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">A cloud of dust on the long white road, <br> And the teams go creeping on <br>Inch by inch with the weary load; <br>And by the power of the green-hide goad <br> The distant goal is won. <br> <br>With eyes half-shut to the blinding dust, <br> And necks to the yokes bent low, <br>The beasts are pulling as bullocks must; <br>And the shining tires might almost rust <br> While the spokes are turning slow. <br> <br>With face half-hid 'neath a broad-brimmed hat <br> That shades from the heat's white waves, <br>And shouldered whip with its green-hide plait, <br>The driver plods with a gait like that <br> Of his weary, patient slaves. <br> <br>He wipes his brow, for the day is hot, <br> And spits to the left with spite; <br>He shouts at `Bally', and flicks at `Scot', <br>And raises dust from the back of `Spot', <br> And spits to the dusty right. <br> <br>He'll sometimes pause as a thing of form <br> In front of a settler's door, <br>And ask for a drink, and remark `It's warm, <br>Or say `There's signs of a thunder-storm'; <br> But he seldom utters more. <br> <br>But the rains are heavy on roads like these; <br> And, fronting his lonely home, <br>For weeks together the settler sees <br>The teams bogged down to the axletrees, <br> Or ploughing the sodden loam. <br> <br>And then when the roads are at their worst, <br> The bushman's children hear <br>The cruel blows of the whips reversed <br>While bullocks pull as their hearts would burst, <br> And bellow with pain and fear. <br> <br>And thus with little of joy or rest <br> Are the long, long journeys done; <br>And thus -- 'tis a cruel war at the best -- <br>Is distance fought in the mighty West, <br> And the lonely battles won.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Lawson">Henry Lawson</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408941" data-title="The Teams de Henry Lawson" data-description="A cloud of dust on the long white road, 
 And the teams go creeping on 
Inch by inch with the weary load; 
And by the power of the green-hide goad 
 The distant goal is won. 
 
With eyes half-shut to the blinding dust, 
 And necks to the yokes ben..."></div>
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