I will go to forty metres
On this sunny BERU morn
Where the strong Antipodeans
Make me glad that I was born.

Signal bearing polar flutter
From the town of Christchurch fair,
Lands upon this Irish meadow
Answering my silent prayer.

Signals coming on the long path
From a far Australian shore,
Crossing ice and sea and jungle,
Coming to increase my score.

Sigs from Asia’s teeming cities;
Sigs from Afric’s dusty plains;
Sigs from small Pacific islands;
To this land of gentle rains.

Some ops work me with a yagi,
Some ops work me with a wire,
Some ops work me with a groundplane,
Late on eighty, when I tire.

Fickle paths on ten and fifteen
Barely open ere they’re gone.
Booming DX strong on 20.
Strong at sunset, strong at dawn.

I will go to forty metres
On this sunny BERU morn,
Sinful would it be to let those
CQ Contests rest forlorn.

(With acknowledgement to Seamus Heaney or is it WB Yeats?).

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