Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, WHALAN OF WAITIN' A WHILE, by J. W. GORDON


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

WHALAN OF WAITIN' A WHILE, by                    
First Line: Longlife to old whalan of waitin' a while
Last Line: And she doesn't mind waitin' a while.
Alternate Author Name(s): Grahame, Jim
Subject(s): Procrastination; Story-telling


LONG life to old Whalan of Waitin' a While;
Good luck to his children and wife;
They gain all the pleasure and gladness that come
And miss all the worries of life.
They do not complain if the season is dry.
They go into debt with a smile.
"It's no use of moaning, it might have been worse,"
Says Whalan of Waitin' a While.

The gates on the boundary fences are down
And buried in rubbish and dust;
The white ants and weevils have eaten the rungs,
The hinges are rotting with rust.
The sheep wander in, and the sheep wander out
And ramble for many a mile:
"I must take a day off and fix up those gates,"
Says Whalan of Waitin' a While.

The pigs roam at large, but they come home at night
And sleep head and tail by the door,
And sometimes a sow has a litter of pigs
That sleep with her under the floor.
They suckle and squabble around her all night,
The odours arising are vile;
"We'll sell them right out when a buyer comes up,"
Says Whalan of Waitin' a While.

The brand on the calves is as big as a plate
And looks like a slash or a wale,
And sometimes it reaches from shoulder to hip,
And sometimes it reaches the tail
'Twas made from the side of a square iron tank,
Cut out with a chisel or file,
"It's not very neat, but it might have been worse,"
Says Whalan of Waitin' a While.

The boys and the girls all at riding excel,
They stick to a saddle like glue,
And follow a bullock through low mulga scrub
As straight as a die and as true.
They're no good at figures and can't read at all,
Nor write in an elegant style.
"We'll give them a bit of a schooling some day,"
Says Whalan of Waitin' a While.

The tanks and the dams very seldom get full,
No matter how heavy it rains;
They've a halo of bones of the sheep that have bogged,
And the dust-storms have silted the drains.
Storm-water is wasted and sweeps down the flat—
A flood that would fill up the Nile—
"We'll clean out those drains when the weather gets cool,"
Says Whalan of Waitin' a While.

The sulky and buggy stand out in the sun,
The woodwork is gaping with cracks,
The leather is wrinkled and perishing fast,
And pulling away from the tacks.
The wheels are all loose and the paint's falling off
And the cushions have long lost their pile;
"I'd put up a shed, but I cannot find time,"
Says Whalan of Waitin' a While.

Good luck to old Whalan of Waitin' a While.
He'll live just as long as the rest,
And smile at the things that make most people frown,
And his health is as good as the best.
Good luck to the mother at Waitin' a While,
Who waddles along with a smile;
She'll have a fine time when the good seasons come,
And she doesn't mind Waitin' a While.





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