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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408997" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Watching The Crows</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">A bushman got lost in a scrub in the North,<br>And all the long morning the searchers went forth.<br>They swore at the rain that had washed out the tracks<br>And left not a trace for the eyes of the blacks;<br>But, trusting the signs that the blackfellow knows,<br>A quiet old darkey stood watching the crows.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The solemn old blackman stood silently by;<br>He stood like a statue, his face to the sky.<br>Black Billy was out of the bearings—we thought—<br>If he looked above for the bushman we sought;<br>For we rather suspected the spirit would go<br>In—well, quite another direction, you know.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Most bushmen on solemn occasions will joke,<br>And unto Black Bill ’twas the super who spoke.<br>He asked, as he cocked his red nose in the air—<br>“You think it old Harrison sit down up there?”<br>“I’m watching the crows. Where the white man lies dead<br>The crows will fly over,” the blackfellow said.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The blackfellow died, and long years have gone round<br>Since the day when old Harrison’s body was found;<br>But still do I see, in my vision at night,<br>A faint figure come like a shadow in sight,<br>And nearer and nearer it comes till it grows<br>Like the form of that blackfellow—“watching the crows”.</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=408997" data-title="Watching The Crows de Henry Lawson" data-description="A bushman got lost in a scrub in the North,
And all the long morning the searchers went forth.
They swore at the rain that had washed out the tracks
And left not a trace for the eyes of the blacks;
But, trusting the signs that the blackfellow know..."></div>
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