Thursday, 15 November 2012 by

Home – by Lorna Madson Have you ever sat out on a hot summer night, Swatting at flies and mosquitoes alike, And wondered why on earth you live where you do, But knowing all along nowhere else would ever do? It’s a strange thing that binds us to what we call home, Even if mostly it means being alone, Is it things that have been, leaving sadness and aching? Is it the future, something we are awaiting? Or could it just be that today is enough, Although some days seem awfully tough, Is it this struggle, this fight to go on, That makes us feel, this is where we belong? To call somewhere home, is to settle somewhere, And take what it gives, pitch in, do your share, Only when you give all you have, will you find, To call somewhere home, can give great peace of mind. To each their own; some like the

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The Good Life by Lorna Madson

Tuesday, 12 June 2012 by

The Good Life It’s called the good life though I’m not sure why, The taxman and the elements sure can try, To break a man’s spirit when all else seems fine, To the body of this country, farming’s the spine.   To most farmers it’s all they’ve ever known, And they’ll tell of good and bad crpos they have grown, To watch the sheep stagger to a dam almost dry, Can make the strongest of grown men cry.   Or to truck them away when all is lost, Most times you rarely recover the cost, Then there’s the years when there’s just too much rain, And you can’t get on the paddocks to sow the grain.   Or there’s the times when the season’s just right, The feeling of hope you can’t try to fight, The heads are all full and it starts to turn brown, Then with one thunderstorm it’s all on the ground!

The Storm by Lorna Madson

Sunday, 08 January 2012 by

We have been having plenty of storms this harvest so it seemed fitting for me to share this next poem with you.       The Storm by Lorna Madson As the storm clouds gather and the thunder rolls about, The wind drops off, it’ll rain there’s no doubt, The question is how much we will get, There’s a few who haven’t yet finished harvesting yet. The thunder gets louder and the lightening gets worse, The dog’s taken off, and the boss starts to curse, It’s still hot and sticky when the first big drops fall, The boss goes inside, dog won’t come to his call. The smell of the rain on the hot ground is beaut, Then the power goes off, now that’s really cute, The kids get scared and the cat wants out, Thunder’s so loud, everyone starts to shout. With candles, you bath kids and get them all fed, Then quick as


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