[Editor: A poem by Jack Sorensen, published in The Northern Times, 5 May 1939. The poem is about “Dryblower” Murphy, who died on 9 March 1939.]
“Dryblower”
His last copy spiked, and his last proof read,
The bard of a fledgling land is dead,
And a voice that sang of land and wave
Is forever hushed in a new-made grave.
He has gone the way that all must go,
But this is a truth, I’ll have men know:
The voice that sang in his generous heart
Deathless remains — a thing apart.
Men will write, in the days to be,
Songs and tales of “Ninety-three.”
But none will dwell neath the self-same skies,
Nor walk where he walked, nor see with his eyes.
Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust,
A hand grown cold, and a pen to rust,
And a lingering sense of loss and pain,
For the songs that will not be sung again.
— Jack Sorensen.
Source:
The Northern Times (Carnarvon, WA), 5 May 1939, p. 6
he was my grandfather he died when i was five years old