Fred Hollows

Did not go gentle into that good night,
Raged, raged against the death of others’ light,
Toiled, fought, till sick and blind received their sight.

A kind of larrikin saint? Well, not the sort
Niched out of reach, aloft in paint and plaster.
Like Andrew Marvell, as his time grew short,
He drove himself to make the sun run faster.

Life poured with heart and gusto was his story:
Moved mountains, deprecated triumphs won,
Hosed down heroics, sacrifice, and glory
With ‘Fancy getting paid for having fun’.

The first Australians drew his healing powers.
Out to the world his huge compassion spread.
We, shamed by those with needs far worse than ours,
Stand tall when Eritreans call us ‘Fred’.