To a Billy

Old Billy, battered, brown and black     With many days of camping,     Companion of the bulging sack,     And friend in all our tramping:     How often on the Friday night,     Your cubic measure testing,     With jam and tea we stuffed you tight     Before we started nesting!     How often, in the moonlight pale,     Through gums and gullies toiling,     Weve been the first the hill to scale,     The first to watch you boiling;     When at the lane the tent was spread     The silver wattle under,     And early shafts of rosy red     Cleft sea-born mists asunder!     And so, old Billy, you recall     A host of sun-burnt faces,     And bring us back again to all     The best of camping places.     True flavour of the bush you bear,     Of camp and its surrounding,     Of freedom and of open air,     Of healthy life abounding.     You bring us more, with those we love     We watched you boil and bubble,     And in the sunny skies above     Forgot each schoolboy trouble     So not without a kindly glance     We eye you in the study,     Although youve met with some mischance,     Although youre black and muddy!