With disdain they looked upon one Billy McGee a boy that promised never to be; a rep that’s scarred and scratched, for sure his name’s mismatched as darker skin ya’ever did see on blackish hair with reddish flecks of Billy McGee.
A red haired aboriginal boy matches were only a toy and he was caught red handed and always branded the troublesome fire starter. Poor boy had no farda he was stolen in a generation; trouble, his one destination for any of his wild-sown seed. Never had a chance, Billy McGee.
An older poem which also featured in an older blog about an older time. It might be enjoyable to some. So it's here again, given a fresh breath to reveal another poetic side. Enjoy!