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...
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