Hope

This thirsty ground with a barren view, Once cooked to a blistering dance, It baptized all the life with heat, Cooking the grass, shrubs and plants, Until the farmer, in his old leather boots, Walked, throughout spring, to the fight, Armed with nothing but hope and a spade, Tube natives he sowed every night, From Swampy She Oaks to Lanky Buttons, Hopbush to Silky Sawn Pea, He covered the hills over two years of work, Covered in magnificent trees, Til now, five years later, in our beautiful drought, Life flourishes over the hills, And the birds, bats, possums and quolls returned, To the ground that no longer kills.