Drought

DROUGHT young lamb at watering hole, partaking of bubbling brook from down below of artesian bore, like many lambs here and now, all hesitant at first, and only taking what is offered, in order to sustain their thirst and to feed an empty belly, for in this dry parched land, ‘tis a land of seemingly endless drought where many days without rains, many days a lacking grass, many days of gathering dust, many days of never-ending heat, and many days of thirsting throats, and bellies catered on no amount of feed, and where many have gone to die on their feet, now with the help of grazier, family, friends and old Blue the dog, herded together as a mob, and in from the long paddocks of no more, and with the banks at their throats but now with help from afar; and hay and feed from donated trucks all the way from Corio Bay, just maybe, just maybe, there is a God who has heard the message, and their pleas for fair dinkums, and the prayers of night and days, and from what lambs they can muster at the hole, for when the rains on the morrow come, there is now a hope of a new beginning, and a revival on its way. Francis Cooper – Mac © August 2019