Darcy

Darcy
A strapping young stockman
rode in from the hills
his face was all twisted with pain
Out mustering cattle, he'd taken a spill
but he climbed on his horse once again
For two days and nights
he rode for The Creek
his only hope lay in the town
His spirit was strong but his body was weak
but he didn't give up and lie down
He made it at last
to the post office there
the Post Master brought him inside
He rested a while on a post office chair
while he told of the pain in his side
The telegraph line
to Derby ran out
The Post Master tapped at the key
The reply soon came back
'There's no doctor here
and no body else we can see.'
The call went to Perth
Doctor Holland replied
'You'll fix up young Darcy right there'
So they gave him some whiskey
and opened him up
after strapping his arms to a chair
The telegraph tapped
as the Post Master cut
The sweat trickled down in his eyes
He fixed up the problem in poor Darcy's gut
not balked by the young stockman's cries
The doctor came north
on the very next ship
and hoped that he'd get there in time
but malaria struck, and young Darcy did slip
and that was the end of the line
And then back in Perth
when Holland met Flynn
he said that he wished that he'd flown
The idea took hold, and grew from within
and from that a great service has grown
* * * *
Now through out the outback
the Flying Doctor tends
the sick and injured people waiting there
But few have heard the story
about Darcy and his friends
How he died too many miles from proper care
So spare a thought for Darcy
and his lonely little grave
For those who sought to save him
and the path they sought to pave