The Drovers Son

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Poetry about a Australian farmer and the harshness of the land

 

 

Dear dad
I'm sitting on the porch right now
Needing your advice.
I'm a little lost right now
Can't seem to do nothing right

The crops are in bad shape
Need a whole heap of rain
It doesn't seem to be happening
And I hang my head in shame.

I remember the day clearly
What you said before your last breath
You told me I'm a drover son
And you knew I would do my best.

The land is a double edged sword you said
It can be your friend or foe
The seasons will change.
The rivers will dry and then they will flow.

Then you took my hand in yours
Closed your eyes and slipped away
I wish you were still here dad to help me fight another day.

The banks been a calling
They are threatening to foreclose.
I here the wife crying
She doesn't think I know.

Our neighbour Harry
He packed his ute and left.
Said he could not do it anymore.
No longer handle the stress.

The billabong is dry
I had to shoot some cattle
The food is scarce
It's a never ending battle.

So I sit here and stare out at the night.....................
Hold on dad that can't be right.
My ears must be playing tricks.
Did I here a pitta pat on the tin roof
Have I had one to many
Streuth............................

I can't believe it ........... It's Raining dad
The heavens have opened up
You have sent me a message
Down from above

I believe you Dad
The time has finally come
I remember what you told me.
I am a drovers son..........................

 

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