He died as a young man did not grow old and gray
Hung himself with his stockwhip long with the dead he lay
He would have developed into a great poet those who know of poetry say
But with sadness weighing him down in life he lost his way.
Had he lived to grow old he would have known great fame
The young surveyor-drover poet Barcroft Boake was his name
Depression weighed him down he choose his way to die
The young outback poet who penned 'Out Where The Dead Men Lie'
So sad can be this life he choose for to die young
He left this World too soon his best songs were not sung
Yet some of his poems live on his best was surely great
In his far too brief life beauty he did create.
Not the first nor the last for to commit suicide
Many great women and great men in such a way have died
The young bushman poet he died before his prime
And it is poetry's loss since with him died his gift of rhyme.
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