I watch the mob as they amble on by
On bent crooked legs glassy dark chocolate eyes
Choreographed in synch turn on cue with the flow
Lunging like baitfish as one to and fro
Heads bent to hoof scan the rut that they course
Sweet sweat scented flanks unmistakably horse
At the crack of a whip heads raised they take fright
Paint stallion leads as they launch into flight
Dance rust coloured cloud split hooves shuffle dust
As one turn on heel in the mob they now trust
Twitched fly covered rump, slashing switch of their tails
Pivots on point as if mounted on rails
Beneath sweaty felt hat under tangerine sun
Glides a leather skinned drover his horse on the run
Silently shadowed at heel by red dog
As one part machine both are integral cogs
Black sweat beaded forehead shaded by brim
Of rabbit skin hat with a furred leather trim
Tattered hat raised in the crook of bent hand
Allows his steed lead as she shunts across sand.
She follows the mob as if tuned to sixth sense
They twitch and switch course plaited muscles strung tense
Standing tall in the stirrups on the balls of his feet
Slight shift in the saddle with the flow set to fleet
The drover by thigh leans into his ride
Follows her lead as she props and then slides
Not missing a beat gathered tangle of legs
With swivel of hips and a toss of her head
Flared nostrils snort, foaming froth at the bit
Lathered in sweat on mobs trace she now flits
Whistled back his red-dog tracks to round up a stray
For the working dogs life is all work and no play
With a flick of his wrist drover cracks plaited whip
Frayed leather snaps back against tightly bound tip
They funnel the mob to split log-crooked race
Cantering as one at a crackling pace
Paint rears protesting drovers traitorous horse
It was she cornered the mob and kept them on course
Swept through race one by one they now trot
Ears flit back and forth as they shy at their slot
Red-dog at hoof awaits sign from the drover
As he dismounts his horse, bolts the gate now its over.
Squared away and penned up the mob school together
Rumps to the rail, heads bowed to the heather
Soft whiskered lips pursed to drink at the trough
Glassy dark amber eyes swivel down then aloft
Working dog comes to rest at drovers dusty heel
Having worked hard all day for the price of a meal
Till later that night near the swag by the fire
A scratch under chin as the drover retires
Beneath a speckled sky on a moonless night
She beds down one eye open to await morning light
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem