Competition

Highly Commended

The Long Paddock
by Zondrae King
East Corrimal, NSW

The lacy clouds are drifting in the cobalt summer sky.
The clouds pass on and still there are no rains.
The searing orb continues, as it started with the dawn,
to bake the earth. The deadly drought remains.

The stockmen and their cattle, scarcely move to chase the flies
and even flies look for a shady spot.
The farmers know, the stockmen too, if we don't get some rain,
these last remaining beasts may soon be shot.

The stock routes are the last resort when rains refuse to fall
and men must take to droving on the road.
They move their charges as they must and head to west or north.
'Preserve the stock,' the drover's only code.

There's feed, in normal seasons, all along the out back roads
and drovers make their living in this way.
Beyond the cocky's fences, out beside the open plain,
the life is tough. They move on every day.

They dare not linger longer or the herd may over graze
then next time round, there'd be no feed at all.
The cattle drink artesian water pumped from under ground.
The windmills turn; the pistons rise and fall.

It's water, always water that decrees the road they take.
The forage on the route is vital too.
Each day there is the chance that Mother Nature has been kind
and grass has not been stripped by kangaroo.

The double strand of wire of the rough electric fence
Is rolled and taken with them every day
The mob knows it's the limit, every beast has felt its sting
and browse so close, before they move away.

The drovers do not wonder at the sight of river gums,
still standing, though the water shrinks away.
Their eye is only trained upon the mob that staggers on
and ever watchful for that lagging stray.

They have no time to listen to the kookaburras laugh
nor do they stop to watch for cockatoo.
These folk are always listening for the dangers of the track
from wild dogs or traffic speeding through.

Entrusted with their charges, drovers live a nomad's life
with each days journey governed by the feed.
No walls confine their bedroom and their ceiling's filled with stars.
A dog and pack horse, filling every need.

The road is long and dusty and the days are hot and dry
This life can be a solitary one
They move from home to somewhere and then on to somewhere else.
It's on and on beneath a scorching sun.

Our history shows that rain will come and rivers will be full.
Then feed will grow. It always has before.
So drovers dream of grass knee high and dams that overflow,
When cattle can be taken home once more.