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Poem

The buffer and howling is strong through the night,
loose tin on a roof puts up a good fight,
something goes crashing; something flies past,
the moan at the window is ghostly and fast.

There’s damage at daylight, and still goes the whine,
there is swirl on the wattle, a list on the pine.
The strength of the gum trees are tested, but found
boughs have been splintered and fell to the ground.

Fence lines have gathered the loose and the dead,
there’s a terrible lean on a time-honoured shed,
and crops on the plains are all twisted about, 
after the windstorm has finally blown out.

The country looks different and definitely prone
to the strength and the power of natures war zone.
Bittersweet truth lies with heartbreak no doubt 
after the windstorm has finally blown out.

The billabong’s murky; the river flows brown,
and carries green pruning, snapped and blown down,
chainsaws are cutting what must be thrown out, 
after the windstorm has finally blown out.

After the windstorm, has finally blown out,
It’s just one more hurdle to add to the drought,
but farmers resilience will win here no doubt, 
now that the windstorm has finally blown out.

©2004 Lindsay Laurie

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