Here you will find the Poem The Drovers of poet Roland Robinson
Over the plains of the whitening grass and the stunted mulga the drovers pass, and in the red dust cloud, each side of the cattle, the native stockmen ride. And day after day lays bare the same endless plains as the way they came, and ever the cloven ranges lie at the end of the land and the opal sky. With creak of pack and saddle leather, and chink of chain and bit together, with moan of the herd with hobble and bell they come to the tanks at the tea-tree well. And through corroding blood-red hills by sanded rivers the Gulf-rain fills, far, where the morning star has shone and paled above, their tracks are gone.