Explore "The Travelling Post Office" by Andrew Barton Paterson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The roving breezes come and go, the reed beds sweep and sway, / The sleepy river murmurs low, and loiters on its way, / It is the land of lots o' time along the Castlereagh.
The old man's son had left the farm, he found it dull and slow, / He drifted to the great North-west where all the rovers go. / 'He's gone so long,' the old man said, 'he's dropped right out of mind, / But if you'd write a line to him I'd take it very kind; / He's shearing here and fencing there, a kind of waif and stray, / He's droving now with Conroy's sheep along the Castlereagh.