Poem

//The poem was difficult to write, since it had to fit in with the photographs. Thanks to Claire's Hard work and certain Help from Sam and Marissa, We have this wonderful poem. Our original idea revolved around the poem, but later we found that we were changing the poem to fit the photos.//

The sun rays beam down upon my tin roof Mercury at 45 degrees and rising… struth! Crops in the paddock burning to a crisp As the town so dry and full of thirst Gardens are fading, houses are rusting and paint is peeling. Broken Hill is slowly crumbling to pieces. With the heat blazing across the land The Silver City's water is as scarce as hen's teeth.

Drinking my beer with a couple of mates. 3pm on a Sunday arvo. I glance out the weather-beaten window A tumbleweed of orange is creeping Towards the Silver City, it rolls closer by Wind soon picks up and dust takes over Sky pitch black, a huge blanket over the sun. No one can see for miles on end And so I'm stuck here for just a few more drinks.

Along the dirt road I go, Back to my home sweet home. The outback is now a child's play area of red. With rows of trees knocked down like dominoes And corrugated iron scattered all over. Desperately I am, longing to inspect The damage this terrible storm of dust has caused. Out in the distance I gaze Upon the crops that lay down On the ground. Wrecked. Ruined.

What should I do? Now that my crop has gone. Should I put the gun to my head? Like those men did before me? Or wait until the rain has come again? I am alone. Alone. Forever alone. When will the time come, When everything will be better again...

The old corner shop has closed its doors. The Silver City is friendly no more. Everyone is inside. The only sounds are the squawking of the crows. And the screams of the wind. Broken Hill is as dull as dishwater.

Staring outside the battered window Many sleepless months have gone by. No crop has grown since the dust storm passed. Cracked and dry is the ground. It seems like no miracle will come. In my misery I continue to look outside. The sun burning into the depths of my skin. Then, all of a sudden, it goes dark. Puffs of white smoke fill the blue sky. And soon turn into grey splotches. Which bucket down rain.

In just one week, half of our annual rainfall has covered The Outback rivers and lakes. And is now overflowing into towns. Flood season has begun. Water invites itself into homes. And brings debris as its guest. Families sit on top of iron roofs. Waiting for the helicopter to take them to safety's arms.

after effects Now a month has gone by since the floods came. Everywhere you look, it's green. And everyone is smiling. Cheering. Yipee! Children run around, laughing away. In the bright green grass that has grown back.

Everywhere I go, people wave and say hi. Happily greeting each other. They talk of the yabbies they caught in the Menindee Lakes. Or the new flowers they planted in their garden. Tourist buses are driving around. And I can grow my crops again. The soil is good. The community is good. And the water that came is great.