Wednesday, 6 August 2014

August 6: The Cocky on the land ...

A weathered old Cocky stood surveying his land
The barbed wire fence in his calloused right hand
And he looked up to the sky as the dust stung his eyes
And he silently prayed for help from the skies

Eight long seasons since a crop had grown well
Still the wheat from the chaff wasn’t easy to tell
The weight on his shoulders was a burden he knew
But another dry season he’d still have to work through

And his mates all around him were leaving this life
But he’d been here forever, just him and the wife
Their kids had moved on, left the land for the city
Bright lights of the nights, or were sunsets more pretty

Still he just stared, turned his back to the wind
He would not give in, he would never rescind
Three decades of fight, he knew no other skill
The sheep and the wheat, the land he would till

Gunshots and rope, they took so many friends
Those who gave up, who could not see the end
But this man would fight, he would not be defeated
Although he was weathered, his resolve was depleted

He let go of the fence, and looked out past the trees
Hear the sounds of the wind, felt the cut of the breeze
Those on the land they all felt the same pain
But his faith would not die, soon there would be rain

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