Ned Kelly

• Mariska Alberts, Grade 9
• Poetry
• 2011

Eighteen-hundred and seventy-eight was the year I remember so well.
They put my father in an early grave and slung my mother in gaol.
Now I don't know what's right or wrong, but they hung Christ on nails.
Six kids at home and two still on the breast. They wouldn't even give us bail. Poor Ned, you're better off dead. At least you'll get some peace of mind.
You're out on the track, they're right on your back, Boy, they're gonna hang you high.
I did write a letter and I sealed it with my hand, tried to tell about Stringy Bog Creek and tried to make them understand
I didn't want to shoot Kennedy or cause his blood to run
He alone could have saved his life by throwing down his gun.
Well I'd rather die like Donahue. That bush-ranger so brave,
Than be taken by the government and forced to walk in chains
Well I'd rather fight with all my might, while I have eyes to see,
Well I'd rather die ten thousand times, than hang from a gallow's tree.
You know they took Ned Kelly and they hung him in the Melbourne Gaol as He fought so very bravely Dressed in iron mail and no man single handed
Can hope to break the bars as There's a thousand like Ned Kelly,
Who'll hoist the flag of stars and believe what they believe and hopefully follow the right path.