Here you will find the Poem Shifting Camp of poet Rex Ingamells
Glint of gumtrees in the dawn, so million coloured: bush wind-borne magpie-music, rising, falling; and voices of the stockmen calling. Bellowing of cattle: stamping, impatient of the place of camping: bark of dogs, and the crack-crack-crack of stockwhips as we take the track. Neighing of night-rested mounts? This is a day that really counts: a day to ride with a hundred head, and a roll of canvas ? that's my bed.
