The Hard Ground At Texas (Qld. Australia) Poem by Warren Brown

The air is hot and bothered, a storm is in the offing
It is quiet and oppressive, though the calmness is deceiving.
The clouds are building up but their undersides are scoffing
And I'm inclined to think, its not rain we'll be receiving.

The ground is burned and bare and its post holes I require
We had the Bobcat in to drill the holes but largely, t'was in vain
I had to import that Mexican bandit, Manual Labour, Esquire
And all because the Boss up top, he won't send us any rain!

The Boys are tough and sinewy as bushmen mostly are,
And when the going's rough, they spit on their hands and go.
I sure am glad I wasn't here a hundred years ago by gar,
All the old fence post were dug by hand, every ten foot or so!

Well, its hot and windy now, the breeze, it burns the skin
The dust is picking up and soon it will be most unpleasant
Rain is what we badly want and we hope it won't be thin!
Steady soaking rain is what the Doctor ordered, most pleasant!

And who's to say a storm will soften yonder stony ridge
No wonder there are no rabbits, bandicoots nor wombats
It's awful flamin' dry and awful flamin' hard, the ground, ridgey didge!
Its hills and stones and prickly pear and barren bloody flats!

So its onward we must press but the goal is somewhat indistinct
What is the purpose of all this work (and I'm a shareholder too)
Puttin' all these fences up, what will all the wildlife think?
To spend the dough, to keep us all in work and end up in the poo?