Early on one hot summer morn, The Bushman sat a’ reading, Contemplating his week ahead, And to what his stock he’d be feeding. The Newspaper covering his district, ’twas always good to read, filled with news and an array of content, from sports ’n’ yarns, to ‘How to Succeed’. Sunshine ’twas predicted once again, On the forecast charts of that paper, ’twas all they’d said four months in a row, The Bushman pondered the whole caper. Putting down the paper sighing, The Bushman saddled up his horse, Rode out to check his struggling heard, Of which drought was dwindling in its force. Yet he loped them down more branches, Refilled their dry water troughs, Heaved motherless calves o’er his saddle, taking them home with dust filled coughs. Day after day he continued, Physical exhaustion taking it’s toll, Stock feed becoming rather scarce, Buying hay had became his moneys role. Then late one November evening, After the sun had sunk in the sky, The Bushman ’twas riding homebound, When a raindrop fell above his eye. Soon ’twas followed by thousands more, Raining hard that whole night long, Next morn there was a wondrous sight, All the thick powdery dust now long gone. Dark grey clouds still loomed over head, yet The Bushman’s mood was bright, Water tanks and dams were overflowing, The now running creek sparkled in the sunlight. *********
To Find out what fun The Bushman has in the mud, where his stallion seeks shelter, and more please venture through the portal below where one can also find the full reading of this messy adventure!
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The Poetic Life 2.0 