His shoulders hunched, he leaves his tent; there's purpose in his tread
"For where there's clay there's opal, son, unless I've been misled."
He'd heard this said and bought his claim - it cost an arm and leg
His dream not yet reality - his quest - the Sparrow's Egg.

His age was only fifty-two - his manner sharp, yet warm.
While others cleaved, he chipped the rocks to keep from doing harm.
He knew that value lay in care as well as being bold
And achieved that perfect harmony 'twixt man and heaven's gold.

For years he worked the claim where even lizards can't be found
And his skin took on the tonings of the red earth all around.
His hair grew white, his eyes grew dim; his friends were few and far…
But those he trusted were good mates, as all true Aussies are.

Some say he died a natural death, but those who knew him well
Still heard his pickaxe ringing - the opal miner's knell.
Some reckoned that he'd found it - and others said "No Way"
"He'll be digging when St Peter calls his name on Judgement Day!!"

I see him now, as he was then, Akubra pulled down low.
His speech, from want of company and practice, had grown slow.
"I told you there was opal, son. You'll never have to beg.
'Cause the rock that you are sitting on….well, that's the Sparrer's Egg."

He'd always teased me, had old Joe, when I was just a lad
And came to see him at the mine, like many others had.
I guess he thought he'd fooled me when my tongue, in shock, was still.
But he left it to me anyway - a footnote in his Will.

It took me years before I grasped my courage in both hands
And travelled, older, wiser, to farther, richer lands.
And though I've made my fortune, I now chase my old friend's dream -
You'll find me in the Outback past Paroo's trickling stream.