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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=479791" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Gun</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">He'd been on the grog the night before, <br>He woke with this morning needing a score.<br>His numbers had been down of late, <br>Today he needed a number great.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His alarm rang with the shriek of a banshee, <br>His fist hammered down on it like a falling gum tree.<br>The alarm sounded against the corrugated wall, <br>He jerked awake and sat on the side of the bed tall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Stumbling toward the water-tank his braces hung low, <br>He broke the ice with his hand splashed his hair of snow.<br>The chilled water was minimally applied to his face, <br>Braces up and just about all was in place</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A quick breakfast of toast, porridge, eggs and bacon, <br>The usual 6 sugars and tea were taken.<br>Hands cupped his mug as the team walked the rutted soil. <br>The shed awaited and yarded sheep for a day of toil. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The jenny sputtered into life, pieces oiled, <br>Rouseabouts, tar boys and shearers were as athletes coiled.<br>The Cocky struck the bell above the generators whine, <br>They began the first blows at wool so fine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Gun took sheep after sheep and his tally grew. <br>Each blow was correct and true.<br>No chaff left on the Redeye<br>Nothing left and the board was dry.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Boots, the boss of the boards hit the bell, <br>And upon the shed a deathly silence fell.<br>A pannikin of blackest tea, <br>And sugar poured from the bag free.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ducks on the boards during the break, <br>Brought a tray of lamingtons, they did make. <br>The shed were on them without decorum, <br>Like flies, they barely left a crumb.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Back at work the Guns tally was chalked, <br>Then into the pen each time he stalked.<br>After taking the wool he used the chute, <br>He assisted each on with a nudge of a boot.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Tucker and afternoon tea passed on bye, <br>Thoughts of ale came to mind under evening sky.<br>Of the evening meal and a veranda glass, <br>With the team, Guns to Chaff.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This was the day he realized he'd come to the end<br>He was beat and could barely bend.<br>He would no longer shear two ton, <br>He was headed for the shade and the younger the sun.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=R.K.+Hart">R.K. Hart</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=479791" data-title="The Gun de R.K. Hart" data-description="He'd been on the grog the night before, 
He woke with this morning needing a score.
His numbers had been down of late, 
Today he needed a number great.

His alarm rang with the shriek of a banshee, 
His fist hammered down on it like a falling gum ..."></div>
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