Ned Kelly

• Henry Collins, Grade 7
• Poetry
• 2017

He was raised on the banks of an icy winter creek; a nobody, child who was small and so clearly weak.
No father to look out for him from when Ned was eleven and one; the lad was left to find his way - desperate, wild and on the run.
At Eleven Mile Creek, Ned found himself a family friend and mate who showed him how bush ranging could soothe his hurt and hate,
Ned and Harry wheeled their guns at coaches of the rich; their reckless lives surging ahead together without a hitch.

He became the man in the iron suit with pistols by his side; his gang was loyal and they were true, they were crafty and they could ride,
With blood on their spurs, outlaws as their names and a price upon their heads, they lived like every day was their last, for they knew they may soon be dead.
As wanted men they were hunted, but it never shook their seats, they took on a train but were betrayed by a hostage they’d released.
The Kelly gang had laid a trap, to slay officers of the law, but instead they were greeted by those officers at their hideout door.

With armour on, Ned was out in front, in a gun battle for his life,
he didn’t die on that day from the wounds in his arms and legs,
Instead he was healed, trialled, then hung,
“Such is life” was the last he said.