Ken Trimble # 33 These are the days of wild things.

Oh these wild things of summer we do in a place
as strange as W Tree.
Eight years ago our farmer neighbour Fred
known as Krishna gave a flock of sheep a chance
to live their lives in peace.

No mint sauce on lamb here. Sixty five sheep
grazed in a nearby field guarded by
two alpacas Cheech & Chong and one
big brown horse, Charley.

A ceremony was held by a Tibetan lama ,
so with heat soaring six sweat soaked men
went on a round up to take them to
another paddock.

We lived in the pure land
Amitofo! Amitofo!

We cajoled them with shouts of, 'come on,
come on', waving our arms like windmills
with the sun baking our skin running through
grass up to our waist as Charley ran free
guiding them through gates and onto country
roads.

Charley this wild thing was the sheepherder
as it charged through the bush.
This was an Australia I never knew being
a city boy.

I was just a kid from Sunshine
and there ain't no horses there.

As I write  from my window I can see the
fortunate flock grazing on a disused field,
these are the days of wild things.