The table was a’shine’n
The light was shuttling in
The buyer all fired up to go
But no opal had come in
The cutters in the back room
Their wheels were slowing down
Then Henry walked into the shed
Looking for a pound
The buyer took his opal
And cursed and swore and weighed
Held it to the light again
Then shook his head aggrieved
It had been a while since Henry
Had ventured into town
He’d been camped at old Glengarry
Some opal he had found
Old Henry started yarning
About times a long ago
Kept rubbing his sombre eyes
On good, one glass you know
Henry’s eye had grieved him some
It had scratched the socket raw
But not one word did he relate
He’d lost it in the war
The buyer sat a ‘watching
Thinking as he did
Then turned to the old timer
And this is what he said
‘Drop her out old timer
And lay her on the pile
The cutter ‘ll think it’s just a stone
As it gazes on her smile’
The cutter had just started
She was fairly young and keen
And as she took the dopping-stick
She turned a greyish green
She took it in her paces
As bush girls often do
And rolled and polished till it shone
It turned a vibrant blue
She washed it in the cutter’s sink
The waters brown and calm
Then placed it very gently
Into Henry’s outstretched palm
The old man took his shiny ball
And slotted her right in
Then turned from the cutter’s downcast eyes
With nothing but a grin
With an extra step in his worn-out gait
Henry headed home
No longer were his eyes aggrieved
He now could find that stone
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