.. bloody stuff.
Three days of greydark, forbidding skies.
Pelting pellets slushing the landscape.
Imploring god as to the whys;
I cannot escape,
the poverty of work.
Farmers in broad acre rejoice,
They made their choice.
As I made mine;
Suburban; decline.
5 comments:
Davo! You Antipodeans talk about whingeing Poms. A few weeks ago you were demanding sympathy for drought that was going to destroy Australia for good. Now you complain about rain.
Sorry I should compliment you on your readable, to-the-point poem, which I like very much.
I prefer rain over snow, it fills up my rain barrels and allows me to avoid a water bill.
I'm sure that I'm going to be hoping for some rain in about a week.
"bloody rain" changes the tone completely.
Yer, I know, sounds a bit contradictory. Firstly, the mower turns wet grass into green, sticky, stinking porridge and severely curtails the amount of work I can do. No work=no money. Makes things rather depressing since most of the fees and charges that I have to pay are automatically extracted from my bank account regardless of hail, rain or shine.
Secondly most of the rainfall has been in South Australia. Not much help for the Murray-Darling system, though they have had some, and apparently there have been good snowfalls up in the Snowy Mountains , but would need much, much more - especially in Queensland - if the system is to survive through next summer.
Also, while I quite enjoy sitting at home in the warm all day, still feel guilty that am not out doing "real" work .. hence the "bloody rain" bit.
Yves, can only refer back t the words from Dorothea Mackellar .. a sunburnt country, land of droughts and flooding rains.
I still love it.. can't really put the stirring poetic words in the right place .. heh.
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