A poem by local Narrandera woman, Laurelle Lewis, about an issue she sees affecting so many in our rural community.
The farmer surveyed his property;
The land was rusty red,
From the parched earth beneath his feet,
To the dried bushes by the shed.
He wiped the sweat from his brow,
Deep, furrowed lines told a story,
Of harvests long forgotten,
Of days of golden wheat and glory.
Through dusts storms and dying cattle,
His blue heeler, a loyal and trusty friend,
Had been there by his side to see it all,
Through hellish summers and back again.
Juiceless grass beneath his feet, crunched,
Every step, a spikey reminder,
That his fields of abundant green,
Had seen better days, far kinder.
From as far as his tired eyes could see,
Fields of dusty yellow, teased his senses,
Year after year, he prayed for rain,
The sun’s ceaseless heat was relentless.
That night at the dinner table,
His wife’s loving hand,
Caressed his strong shoulders,
Both shared a love for this land.
They had seen it through times like this before,
Singing out for rain,
Through hardships and battles,
Strong hearts they had maintained.
That night the farmer tossed and turned,
In a Kaleidoscope of dreams,
He’d prayed and prayed for rain to come,
But the skies they seemed to tease.
Suddenly, a familiar hand,
Warm and gentle at its touch,
Awoke the farmer from his slumber,
She cried, ‘Look out the window, love!’
Through the dreary morning mist,
Upon the thirsty earth, cracked open,
Droplets of desperate rain did kiss,
The dusty hearth, now broken.