He was of the fields of lonesome bush
of grass and dock and stubborn rush
the golden birch and hawthorn bush
brown clay and rock and earth.
Bigger than life, that simple mile
that left him such a little while
Big man, big heart, beaming smile
he wore each day from birth.
Tractor, trailer, nut and wheel,
Cattle and chat, tangle and deal,
Apple juice and wide appeal
These were his favourite toys.
Working steady, in yard and shed
By the sweat of brow he won his bread
Mother, family, curls on head,
His treasure trove of joys.
He left his post, his human face,
He left us robbed of his good grace,
and filled us with an empty space
to go to those on High,
His body lies in sacred ground
the mourners scattered all around,
The wings of doves echoed the sound
of Walter's spirit fly.
(dedicated to Walter Moorhead, his life a tribute to nature)
