Dust devils dancing, speeding across the plain,
Farmers gazing at the sky, for faintest signs of rain,
Dry parched paddocks, no slightest hint of green,
It seems the hope of rain is nothing but a dream.
Grasses brown and brittle crunch, crackling underfoot,
Leaves on bushes falling, dried and black like soot,
Lizards scuttle, seeking shady patches,
Distant bushfires burning all around them left in ashes.
Scorching days, with no relief at night,
Years of drought, add to the farmers plight
Prayers are offered up, Oh Lord hear our pleas,
Just for some relief, from conditions such as these.
The season drags on and on, as it surely must,
While the farmer in despair sees his fields turn into dust,
Hot Northerlys blowing good topsoil away,
Can we put up with these conditions , for just another day,
To give up seems so futile, we’ve been through all this before,
Surviving tougher times than this, with our backs against the
Hanging on so grimly til the rains at last appear,
And we can go on farming for just another year.
Jw April 2000