POEM, 'Legions Lost: A Lament of the Wasted Migrant', by S.L. Duncan

handwritten poem in black ink on three thin faintly lined sheets of paper. Heading 'Legions Lost / A Lament of the Wasted Migrant / by. Donnachaidh (underlined)', in 9 verses.
Content: (page 1) 1/ Heres a yarn of a man hale & hearty, / who settled way down the Sou' West. / Beguiled by the tales of McLarty, / McKay, Mick Troy and the rest. / Who said that a hard working party / could with ease carve himself a wee nest./ 2 / They gave him a large lump of timber / filled with Karri and Jarrah and Gum, / and bade him his muscles unlimber, / with axe and with saw make things hum. / Till he cleared a fair space in that timber, / Built a shack where his missus could come. / 3 / Then they gave him a horse and a plough sir / to scratch up the soil he'd laid bare, / So he toiled, planted clover and now sir, / The plot looked so green and so fair. / They gave him some pigs and a cow sir / and chooks for the missus to care. / (page 2) 4. / And next they gave him a foreman / to guide him and others in groups. / But mostly he rubbed them all raw man, / and tied up their efforts in loops, / Till our settler, fed up to the core man, / regards he and others but dupes.' 5. / Still he toiled on, and slaved, ever hoping / of things coming right in the end. / With a grin and a joke 'stead of moping / in the way other settlers did bend. / But at last gave up hopes of e'er coping / with matters that never would mend. / 6. / Still giving, they gave him a mortgage, the mightiest burden of all, / which crushed out the last of his courage, / A load under which he must fall. / Till he looked upon life as a black page, the worst he or wife could recall./ (page 3) 7. / Disheartened and weary and busted, / they left bush and drifted to town. / Till the man became stagnant and rusted, / no further desire for renown. / While his wife became faded and crusted / in a world which had turned upside down. / 8. / Now the Groupies are spread o'er the Land, / far away from their own Kith & Kin. / A slaving and hard working band, / On relief they still have a bad spin. / Their fatherless kids out of hand, / Mothers striving to keep them from sin. / 9. / And that's the end of my story / of the man from out the Sou'West. / A story thats lacking in glory, / tho' the man was trying his best. / You that hark to my tale. / Tho' the grievance be stale. / Well, heres luck to that man of the West. / Donnachaidh.

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