ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

The Rain

There’s nothing like a rainy day
To chase a farmer’s blues away.
The grey clouds rolling from the east
Like rising foam of swirling yeast
From o’er the distant ocean fled,
To save the grain, to make the bread;
As over hills the sweeping clouds
Rise heavenward like lifted shrouds
And there’s no force that can enchain
Their precious store – so falls the rain;
As misty curtains moist and clean
Are drawn across a dusty scene
And falling down in silver sheets
The parched and grateful earth it meets.

© Dennis N. O'Brien, 2012

That's a bit of a wistful sonnet of nostalgia for us here in the Hunter Valley, we haven't had rain since July.

Dry here too - thanks.