Treasure Island

Les Littleford

(25 April 1943 / Warwickshire, England)

From the Hume


It’s so dry

The highway stretches endlessly from town to town
And it’s all so dry

Great gums whither in the parched air
Leaves curled in surrender
Waiting patiently, desperately, for rain.

Strands of verdant green amongst the grey gums
Betray hidden remnants of waterways
But they too are dry

The sculptured, rolling hills are grey
Etched with dry creeks
Like veins on a dying man’s hand

Tractors trail dust from useless paddocks;
Cattle follow the fodder trail
While pale grass wilts in the still only October sun

Empty dams, dry creeks, dying trees.
Beneath the roar of trucks I hear the earth gasp -
Parched, thirsty, dry.

And trees, cattle, farmers,
Wait patiently, desperately, hopelessly.

Submitted: Friday, September 27, 2013
Edited: Friday, September 27, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

During the 2007 drought

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