The Creek

A Poem by David Lewis Paget

There wasn’t a lot of love to lose

Between Joe Brown and Brent,

Their farms lay either side of a creek

That now lay dry, and spent,

They used to talk in the early days

When they had no axe to grind,

But Brent came back with a bride one day

Who had been on Joe Brown’s mind.

But Joe was slow in the love-me stakes

While Brent was a bit more flash,

He’d cut on in at the Farmer’s Ball

To the girl with the bright blue sash,

While Joe walked off to sit on his own

And wait for a second chance,

But Brent hung on and dazzled the girl

Right through to the final dance.

The courtship took a matter of weeks

Then they came new-wed to the farm,

And Joe was down inspecting the creek

As Brent showed Jill round the barn,

There wasn’t a fence between the two

They used the creek as a line,

‘The land to the west is yours,’ said Joe,

‘The land to the east is mine.’

The balance wasn’t so equal now

With a new bride over the way,

Joe would have married the girl himself

But hadn’t been game to say.

He soon withdrew to his farmhouse, sat

And wallowed in his despair,

He’d been so set on marrying Jill

There was nobody else out there.

The Autumn rains came on with a flood

And the creek had begun to flow,

Brent stayed at home with his new found love

Not even a thought of Joe,

While Joe lay plotting to get him back

He’d teach him to be so flash,

And walked on up to the top of the creek

With a shovel and old pick-axe.

He felled a tree, and shovelled some stone

To block off the old creek line,

Watched the water form in a lake

Then rested, taking his time.

He chopped a hole in the old creek bank

The water washed it away,

And formed a new creek bed to the west,

And wondered what Brent would say.

When Jill got up at two in the morn

The tide was flooding on through,

In through the back door of their house

And cutting the house in two,

Brent went roaring up to the hill

Astride of his old half-track,

‘Have you gone crazy, Joe,’ he cried,

‘You’d better be putting it back!’

‘Too late, too late,’ said his surly mate

‘The creek is forming a bed,

And anything to the east of it

Is mine, the agreement said!

So move your things to the west of the place

For the east of the house is mine,

The creek that’s flowing right through the house

Will be the dividing line.’

Brent went muttering back to the house

And divided the house in two,

He shored up all the rooms to the west

As the water came tumbling through,

While Joe sealed off the east of the hall

Made sure that his rooms were dry,

While Jill looked over the barricade

At Joe, and started to cry.

‘Why have you done this thing to us,

What did we even do?’

‘He cut me off at the Farmers Ball

In the course of a dance with you.

You never gave me another chance,

I was waiting to propose.’

‘But I would never have married you,

Brent was the man I chose!’

Brent went over and burnt the house

On the other side of the creek,

There wasn’t water to fight the flames

So it smouldered there for a week,

The farms are empty and vacant now

Two creek beds, dry as a bone,

With Brent and Jill now living in Nhill

And Joe in the scrub, alone!

David Lewis Paget

© 2013 David Lewis Paget

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Linda Marie Van Tassell

Stanza 2, Last Line: "Right though to the final dance." --- should be "through"

There's an old Chinese proverb that says, "Revenge is best served cold." This poem is proof positive that one shouldn't act in haste seeking recompense. It's a double-edged sword that cuts both ways and can often claim the so-called "victor."

While I felt sorry for Joe, his actions were completely irrational; and he brought ruin upon them all.

Another excellent yarn!