Fisher’s Ghost This Fisher and a partner snide, Once farmed a grant of land. Both of them were ‘ticket’ men, Their prison terms now spanned. There came a time when Fisher’s form, No longer trod the wold, He had returned to England - That was the story told. But now a phantom form appeared, By creek below a ridge; ‘Twas Fisher’s Ghost, which oft would come, To haunt the rodd and bridge. |
2. None dared pause to note it move, Far more intent of course, To stretch the distance in between, By putting whip to horse. And never draw a flowing rein, O’er road still lined with scrub, ‘Til reaching sanctuary of his home, Or portals of the pub. At last there spoke a braver soul (Endowed with O.P. strength) Who vowed: ‘I’ll watch what e’er it does; I’ll go to any length’. |
3. So, ‘twixt Campbelltown and Camden, On a night quite stygian black, When ghosty came and sat itself, Beside the haunted track. He watched it rise, and beckon: To ‘follow if he will’, It paused, it pointed at a mound Below a distant hill. The eerie gloom, so unrelieved, Saw O.P. strength decline, Now chilling waves of terror, Sent shivers down his spine. |
4. In trembling haste he dug the sod, As dawn awoke the day And - down there in a shallow grave, The bones of Fisher lay. From Campbelltown to Camden, By creek below a ridge, No longer sits a ghostly form, Upon a haunted bridge. It sought to solve a hidden crime, Not be a scaring pest, So once poor Fisher’s fate was clear, The ghost now lays at rest. Clarry Dunstan |
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