One summer's morning as I strode, along a dusty Queensland road, I chanced to meet an old cane-toad, bowed down beneath a heavy load.Oh, my mind, I thought, was in a trance. I had to have a second glance, for there in boots and moleskin pants he stood with proud and haughty stance.He shed his burden when I spoke, then wiped his brow and rolled a smoke, and said, just like it was a joke, lend me a quid, mate, I'm flat broke.Oh, I thought I must be seeing things, illusions, like the heatwave brings, until he said with toothless grin, you look like you've been on a binge.Oh, I said, pray tell me, Mr. Toad, why do you choose to walk the road and carry such a heavy load without a fixed place of abode?Well, mate, said he, I like to tramp all day till heaven lights its lamp, and then pull up and make my camp. Besides, swamps always give me cramps.And while humans fight with creed and race and try to conquer outer space, I just plot on from place to place and watch this mad old world go its pace.I stood and stared as though spelled bound by words of wisdom so profound, then I heard the old cane-toad expound,Oh, you sure meet some queer blokes not so much.Keep walking round.