Be all the blue you don’t want to see in the sky
That bitter note of sunshine rules the skies
Blow up the water tank the roos don’t mind the bangs
Leave the pieces laying on the dust
Silky dust wanting water and somehow I don’t care
Under the verandah the clouds are gathering
Could this be the end of all we’re hearing now
Or is this the only thing keeping us sane.
All I see of me is my shadow on the wall,
Walking down the hall thudding on worn carpet again.
Everything I write comes back to the word drought. It’s not the worst word once you get to know it.