The Bishop of Pyramid Hill (For Sydney James Kirkby)

Open and dry, the plains drew him in;
They say he “carried his swag” where he went.
He knew how to sketch and could play the piano,
A bag full of gifts always ready for use.
In city or bush he looked for a city
That was not yet here; so he set down his things
Wherever he went, whether beside a creek
Or walking the streets with workers on lunch-breaks,
He built from the ground and in the city’s dense lights
Foundations and cornerstones for the new city’s walls.
And he planted his tree-trunk deeply to drink
Of the stream that ran under both city and town,
A slow, steady stream that defied all description,
Sending naysayers running from its glistening light;
And beside that stream grew strong roots and strong branches
And in all those branches the bush’s church grew.

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