Walking After Midnight Poem by Warren Brown

Well, it's a bit past midnight when I go
More like four thirty or five o'clock am
Can't sleep, it's a tossing and turning show
So I get out of bed and become a walking man

My friend the Southern Cross is there above
The wanderer's guide and ever pointing south
The Southern Cross, its something that I love
I swell with pride, it puts my heart in my mouth

The starlight glistens on the stones below
My footsteps are crunching on the gravel
The town dogs come barking out to say hello
As past their masters homes I travel

The air is brisker now as Anzac Day approaches
Out along old Schwenke Street, along the river flat
The smell of new cut lucerne drifting on the breezes
In the little camping park the vans are quiet, no chat.

Jack Frost is coming soon to keep me company
He'll catch me unawares and make my ears go cold
It been many years since we last met
But it smartens you up, does a touch of frost!