Ode To Joy

Poem By Ivan Pine

It was out the back of Millthorpe
In a shed of some repute,
That I met a lady roustabout
Very capable and astute.

She kept the floor swept and clean which,
On your dinner, you could ingest.
The bellies sorted and stacked real nice,
And quick of wit and ready jest.

We spoke about a lot of things,
And shared some views of life.
It seemed her life was interesting,
And had its share of strife.

She was of English stock she said,
Of which she was quite happy.
But married and came out here,
To be an honorary Aussie chappie.

We got to know and like each other,
As we worked and shore along.
But hard to talk and jest at all,
With Col’s music, wild and strong.

I asked if she shore a bit,
And if she’d like a go.
She said she would, but felt
That she’d be way too slow.

I was shearing a ram of Dorset breed,
That was rather pasty.
Just wait a bit I said,
Let us not be hasty.

Finally, I had a sheep
That seemed to sit real nice.
Joy was upon the board,
Ready in a trice.

Her blow was long and steady,
But rather off the skin.
And made some further additions,
To Sally’s seconds bin.

It was not long before,
In confidence she did grow.
Soon had that sheep so white and clean,
From head down to it’s toe.

Later on a lamb was added,
To her growing tally.
All in all she did her best,
For her friend called Sally.

Now Beethoven was a clever chap,
And so full of ability.
But do you think he could shear a sheep,
When he was Eighty-Three?

He did prove to think ahead,
A very clever boy.
To write a special musical and
Called it, Ode to Joy.

IvP 2005

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