Idiosyncrasy - Poem by Herbert Nehrlich
It was a sorghum field,
the drought had done its thing,
until the final vital drop
had gone into the atmosphere
abandoning the emus and the 'roos.
A spot of shade, it had been saved
due to a trickle from the water tank,
so green it looked a bit obscene
a bed of sorghum straw had been arranged,
where all of us, the ones who count,
were resting weary bones tonight,
a Southern moon reflected off the tin
so dry it had not seen a dropp of rain in years.
But not a care was present in our camp,
as limbs were intertwined and simply nude,
it was the ambience of a different world
where idiosyncrasy had taken on a meaning.
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