Here you will find thePoemAndy's Returnof poet Henry Lawson
With pannikins all rusty, And billy burnt and black, And clothes all torn and dusty, That scarcely hide his back; With sun-cracked saddle-leather, And knotted greenhide rein, And face burnt brown with weather, Our Andy?s home again! His unkempt hair is faded With sleeping in the wet, He?s looking old and jaded; But he is hearty yet. With eyes sunk in their sockets? But merry as of yore; With big cheques in his pockets, Our Andy?s home once more! Old Uncle?s bright and cheerful; He wears a smiling face; And Aunty?s never tearful Now Andy?s round the place. Old Blucher barks for gladness; He broke his rusty chain, And leapt in joyous madness When Andy came again. With tales of flood and famine, On distant northern tracks, And shady yarns?`baal gammon!? Of dealings with the blacks, From where the skies hang lazy On many a northern plain, From regions dim and hazy Our Andy?s home again! His toil is nearly over; He?ll soon enjoy his gains. Not long he?ll be a drover, And cross the lonely plains. We?ll happy be for ever When he?ll no longer roam, But by some deep, cool river Will make us all a home.