Again it seemed they‘d have to play along with hunger games
caught up between the days and nights on grassless empty plains
with nothing much to give them hope or ease their hunger pains
and only dirty, stinking, turgid water.
Relentlessly the sun burnt off the slightest tinge of green
from plants that struggled desperately some scant moisture to glean
as Mother Nature with no care at all vented her spleen
oblivious to every son and daughter.
White tipped with green, a last hurrah, the old gum tree bought forth
its blossom, sweetly scented. Did it sense rain in the north?
Did ancient secret instinct tell there would be rain of worth
drenching the land alongside storm clouds laughter?
Too late for some, a single shot echoed around the hills
repeated time and time again – a kindly hand that kills
and ends the misery of those who’ve fallen and are still
with nothing left to give or even barter.
Maureen Clifford © The Scribbly Bark Poet