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Joe The Shearer

His craggy wrinkled face tells of time's wear and tear
Bald at the top of the head surrounded by silver gray hair
He has been to many places and walked on many a path
Since he left the rural City of Ararat.

One who has had plenty of lovers but never a wife
He knows that one of his affairs to a son did give life
But that was years ago in a far away town
Back when his hair was a dark chestnut brown

His son or his son's mother he has not seen for years
Though memories of his loss does not move him to tears
He is of a tough school as one does say
One who has lived life in the hard way

He worked as a shearer years beyond his life's prime
And this is going back many Seasons in time
His nomadic existence carried him to places new
And of women in his life he had quite a few

A man who loved the country town pub atmosphere
And he does retain his strong liking for beer
One who in his life nothing to did come free
He looks fit and well for one of eighty three

His better days in life he surely has known
Too old now for women he sleeps on his own
Joe the Shearer was in his prime five decades ago
And as is said of time it becomes everyone's foe.

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