The Prospector’s Daughter

The Prospector’s Daughter

Proud of gait, grandly tall,
Dainty of hand and foot withal
Graced with the glorious length of limb
That thro’ the ages poets sing.

Graceful of form, bewitching fair,
Gracious of mien and debonair;
Out looking the world thro’ fearless eyes,
Welcoming life in glad surprise.

Not garbed in costly raiment she,
Not sighing for lover to bend the knee;
Scorning the daintier things of life,
Eager to join in its nobler strife.

Alone, unafraid she takes the track,
To her father’s camp in the far out back:
Out in the bush apart from the world,
She carries the banner of joy unfurled.

Her father’s joy, her father’s pride,
With him she shares what fete betide:
Tho’ luck be hard, tho’ luck, be kind,
Greeting what came wit a gladsome mind.

How few like her will hardship bear?
How few a father’s toil will share?
May all good luck attend her way,
And the god of success her worth repay.
By – O. K Marvel Loch.