It's only Spring
And the paddocks
Are but arid dust pans
Drought turned up early
Single and aggressive
Making its ravaging way
With each passing day
The gumtrees are shedding
Their superfluous branches
No need to worry about a garden
It's not going to happen
The lack of water is mot
Summer will be a harsh mistress
Unforgiving to this treachery
Harsh and relentless
Cruel and ruthless
It will lead to a barren Autumn
No doubt a fruitless one
The sun having dried up
Any crop long before its time
And we will have to pull through
To a soulless winter
Where my soul
Reside in a lifeless kernel
Awaiting better times.
Lucette C. Bailliet
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