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TERRY
    

By Lyn Eather Christmas 2005 for Terry Embry a 50yr old downs syndrome friend who stays with our family most Christmas holidays for the past 10 years.

 

I’ve been thinking about Christmas

And wondering what to do

To find a gift for Terry

Who wants for nothing new

 

So I’ve put pen to paper

To write a little note

And dedicated this poem

To this special kind of bloke

 

His name is Terry Embry

He is a mate of mine

He calls me Sis & family

We have a real great time

 

He comes to stay on our farm

Been coming every year

He brings a special charm

Then goes again, saying “SEE YA!”

 

When first he came to see us

All those years ago

Smoke in hand, stepped off the bus

A cheeky smile and a mow!

 

I wondered to myself

What do we have here?

But when he spoke to me

I knew he was a dear

 

Once at home he settled in

Showed he could milk a cow

Told us how to ride a bull

Just ask, he’ll tell you how

 

We had a horse called Frisky

I said, “He’s just for you”

Well the knocking of his knees

Could be heard from me to you!

 

But when he got his balance

He sat there right up high

An image like John Wayne

While the sun set in the sky

 

Then he brought in the cows

On his trusty steed

Men like Terry Embry

Are a rare kind of breed.

 

One day when drafting cattle

Terry came to help

Quietly held a back gate

Till I heard him YELP!

 

I’ll not forget that call

A shriek filled with fear

As the one tone bull

Was standing far too near

 

I looked around to see

What I’d always dread

The bull with 10-inch horns

Using Terry as a place to rub his head

 

I’m sure when Terry went

Back home to Bundaberg

No one would believe

The story that they heard.

 

And what about the time

Gordon drove the ute

We were moving cattle

Terry thought it was beaut

 

He could stand in the back

And see all the action

Till the cattle gave us trouble

Wheels spun to get some traction

 

The ute had to be slick

To help to make up ground

And reversed back real quick

To turn the mob around

 

What Gordon didn’t see

And Terry tried to say

Was a real BIG bottle tree

Was right there in the way!

 

Terry let go of his grip

To hit the roof on top

A signal in the bush

To make the driver stop

 

Well the driver got the message

Too late! The ute hit hard!

And poor old Terry’s tailbone

Is still a little scared.

 

Now I’m running out of paper

To tell the tales that I’ve got

So you’ll have to talk to Terry

He can fill you in, on the lot

 

And just to jog his memory

Ask about the pub and beer

Or get him to tell you ‘bout

The bike I tried to steer

 

Or when he drove the quad away

And left me at the gate

Cheeky grin on his face

Laughing, “see you later mate!”

 

But Terry is a worker

Always there to lend a hand

Looking after horses

Like the Snowy River Man

 

And when I think of Terry

Cracking the whip like a toy

Singing songs a plenty

Like the wild colonial boy

 

So to my cousin Terry

I hope the stories never end

I hope your day is merry

Coz you’re a special kind of friend 

 

I hope when you are sleeping

Santa comes to look at you

And grants all your wishes

Of the thing you’d like to do!

                     

 

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