In remembrance of those who fell in the Great War 1914 to 1918.
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Cy Daniel
Cy Daniel was a drover,
A
simple cattle drover
Contented
with the only life he knew.
By
a field he lived alone
In
a shack that was his home,
Always
smiling ’though his pleasures were so few.
Then
one day the army came
And
they called Cy Daniel’s name
For
they needed him to help to fight a war.
“Every
able bodied man
Has
to fight the best he can,
It’s
his duty” said the sergeant, “and the law.”
Although
much averse to killing
He
accepted his King’s shilling
But
Cy Daniel felt an ache within his breast.
While
the people who defiled him
Only
rubber stamped and filed him.
Now
he was just a number like the rest.
They
also took the cattle
To
sustain the men in battle.
Very
grateful that their stomachs would be fed,
In
a cart the soldiers piled them
Then
they rubber stamped and filed them.
Cy
Daniel, he was overcome with dread.
When
the captain gave the order
To
assemble on the border,
Cy
Daniel, he marched forward with his gun
And,
positioned with the others,
All
the fathers, sons and brothers,
Together
they fought bravely, every one.
As
the seasons came and went
Many
soldiers’ lives were spent
But
Cy Daniel bore a wound that didn’t bleed.
With
each foe man that was slain
’Twas
his soul that felt the pain
Of
his anguish as he carried out the deed.
Then
the enemy retreated
For
their army was depleted.
All
‘survivors’ gladly took the homeward road.
Now
hostilities were over,
Not
the soldier but the drover,
Cy
Daniel, too, returned to his abode.
There
a bitter blow was dealt
For
the shack where he had dwelt
Was
no longer in its place beside the field.
Cy
Daniel’s mind was crazed
When
he found it had been razed,
And
this, the final blow, it never healed.
Too
much for him to take,
(Even
stronger men would break)
Cy
Daniel, he completely lost his mind.
He
wandered driving cattle
…Imaginary
cattle…
The
doctor said, “Committal must be signed.”
When
locked up in that asylum,
(Where
they rubber stamp and file them)
Cy
Daniel found his own peculiar peace.
In
his tiny, airless cell,
Not
the drover, but his shell,
Tended
cattle night and day ’til his ‘release.’
Yes;
he died in that asylum,
(Where
they rubber stamp and file them)
Then
Cy Daniel he was covered up with earth.
’Though
his country he had died for
There
was not a man who cried, for,
Being
strangers, they had never known his worth.
His
mortal life is over
But
the simple cattle drover,
Cy
Daniel, he looks down upon the crowds.
In
the company of others
All
the fathers, sons and brothers,
Tending
cattle in the fields above the clouds.
Sandra Yates
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