A Tale Of Drought

By Zekai Young

In a place where no one goes, ‘Sept the animals and I, Buried deep. In the stringy bark and gums, Miles from a servo, Or a pub were farmers sing, A peaceful river flowing through the bush.

‘Twas a place I used to go, My little dog and I, We’d fish and hunt along the river bank. And sometimes we would catch, Where the river runs and back, A monster cod.

Or better still a trout. And on sunny days or rainy, In the morning or at night,

‘Twas An orchestra of wild life, A symphony of birds, And sometimes it would tell of long ago. We would bathe and hunt and fish, Till the pinks and reds had long melted away. But sadness struck us both, Cos no tears of rain would fall, That mighty, roaring river raneth dry. And both my dog and I, We cried and cried and cried, For our hearts were where the river ran. Now all that’s left, ‘tis a dry place on the ground,