<h2> The Travelling Post Office </h2>
<p>The roving breezes come and go, the reed beds sweep and sway,<br/>
The sleepy river murmurs low, and loiters on its way,<br/>
It is the land of lots o' time along the Castlereagh.<br/>
<br/>
. . . . .<br/>
<br/>
The old man's son had left the farm, he found it dull and slow,<br/>
He drifted to the great North-west where all the rovers go.<br/>
'He's gone so long,' the old man said, 'he's dropped right out of mind,<br/>
But if you'd write a line to him I'd take it very kind;<br/>
He's shearing here and fencing there, a kind of waif and stray,<br/>
He's droving now with Conroy's sheep along the Castlereagh.<br/>
<br/>
'The sheep are travelling for the grass, and travelling very slow;<br/>
They may be at Mundooran now, or past the Overflow,<br/>
Or tramping down the black soil flats across by Waddiwong,<br/>
But all those little country towns would send the letter wrong,<br/>
The mailman, if he's extra tired, would pass them in his sleep,<br/>
It's safest to address the note to 'Care of Conroy's sheep',<br/>
For five and twenty thousand head can scarcely go astray,<br/>
You write to 'Care of Conroy's sheep along the Castlereagh'.'<br/>
<br/>
. . . . .<br/>
<br/>
By rock and ridge and riverside the western mail has gone,<br/>
Across the great Blue Mountain Range to take that letter on.<br/>
A moment on the topmost grade while open fire doors glare,<br/>
She pauses like a living thing to breathe the mountain air,<br/>
Then launches down the other side across the plains away<br/>
To bear that note to 'Conroy's sheep along the Castlereagh'.<br/>
<br/>
And now by coach and mailman's bag it goes from town to town,<br/>
And Conroy's Gap and Conroy's Creek have marked it 'further down'.<br/>
Beneath a sky of deepest blue where never cloud abides,<br/>
A speck upon the waste of plain the lonely mailman rides.<br/>
Where fierce hot winds have set the pine and myall boughs asweep<br/>
He hails the shearers passing by for news of Conroy's sheep.<br/>
By big lagoons where wildfowl play and crested pigeons flock,<br/>
By camp fires where the drovers ride around their restless stock,<br/>
And past the teamster toiling down to fetch the wool away<br/>
My letter chases Conroy's sheep along the Castlereagh.<br/></p>
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