Old Lang Syne

Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and old lang syne?

We two have paddled in the rising stream
as we tried to cross the Edith.
But cyclone Grant between us came
in one unholy torrent.

The brolgas in the bush can dance
in grateful jubilation;
that the wind blowing from the Arafura Sea
left them in peaceful isolation.

Who cares of walking slopes to pick
the daisies of long ago?
As long as we’re not beneath them
we’ll give next year a go!

You can raise your glass of Jansz, my friend,
and I’ll raise my Rumball high.
Let’s drink to memories of times long gone,
hoping better times are nigh.