Drought's Upon The Land Poem by Warren Brown

The awful hand of drought has come and spread across the land
It sneaks up quiet like and stealthy, not apparent ‘till it's there
The storm clouds promise but are chased away, some unknown hand
Is at work, at work to break our spirits, we can but sit and stare
At those clouds that might have saved us - as they disappear.

To some place over the ranges, to the east, where drought is not
Is it the best of both worlds, living on the high New England ranges?
It gets very frosty in the winter and summers can be bloody hot!
They get the coastal rain and benefit from any western changes
Its enough to cause a grown man to turn to drink, to ruin and despair.

While down along the river flats the lucerne grows a treat
Go back a mile or two, away from the river bank up the hill a bit
You'll find no lucerne there, just roo dung, withering in the heat
The calves will wither on those hills having to live on a dried up tit
Its rough on the beasts out here, let alone the women and their men.

And then there's rabbits competing for the slight green pick
It won't be long before the long paddock is sought for use
By every stockman from round about, every Harry, Tom and Dick
A six mile stage a day is what they used to do or cop abuse
Things ain't what they used to be - but then it rained a bit more often!