A friend of mine, Rhymin' Simon, sings this Henry Lawson poem as a song. The first time I heard him sing it was at a session round a campfire, and as he sang it, he patted an imaginary dog. It was one of those magic moments - lovely! And in case anyone goes looking for a tune - no, it's not the Chris Kempster one. I don't know where he got the tune. Must ask him.

DOWN THE RIVER - Henry Lawson

I've done with joys an' misery,
    An' why should I repine?
There's no one knows the past but me
    An' that ol' dog o' mine.
We camp an' walk an' camp an' walk,
    An' find it fairly good;
He can do anything but talk,
    An' he wouldn't if he could.

We sits an' thinks beside the fire,
    With all the stars a-shine,
An' no one knows our thoughts but me
    An' that there dog o' mine.
We has our Johnny-cake an' "scrag,"
    An' finds 'em fairly good;
He can do anything but talk,
    An' he wouldn't if he could.

He gets a 'possum now an' then,
    I cooks it on the fire;
He has his water, me my tea—
    What more could we desire?
He gets a rabbit when he likes,
    We finds it pretty good;
He can do anything but talk,
    An' he wouldn't if he could.

I has me smoke, he has his rest,
    When sunset's gettin' dim;
An' if I do get drunk at times,
    It's all the same to him.
So long's he's got me swag to mind,
    He thinks that times is good;
He can do anything but talk,
    An' he wouldn't if he could.

He gets his tucker from the cook,
    For cook is good to him,
An' when I sobers up a bit,
    He goes an' has a swim.
He likes the rivers where I fish,
    An' all the world is good;
He can do anything but talk,
    An' he wouldn't if he could.