The Drought

The fifth year without rain
Paddocks dusty and bare
Sheep not old enough
To remember green grass
They wander hungry
Searching for feed
Their wool is worthless
Might have to shoot the buggers

These dried out paddocks
Brown rolling hills
Once fed the mob
Who's wool cheque paid the bills
Over 150 years
Through the '56 floods
And the fires of '67
Our family worked this land

We are the last generation
To sweat and toil
Plough the paddocks
Shear the sheep
Enjoy the good years
Suffer through droughts
The kids fled to the city
Farm life is not for them

Each morning we search the skies
For the slightest hint
The drought would break
We could get some bloody rain
The sheep could feast
The dams would fill
No more long nights
Too worried to sleep