The Good Life by Lorna Madson
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!
But to sit back and watch the crop sway in the breeze,
On a hot summer night, it sure helps to ease,
The worry and tension and the bank account blues,
The next thing to think of is mating the ewes.
If you get a good lambing and the micron count’s right,
And for just one more year you manage to sit tight,
The bank statements might come in black ink again,
Things will look better and your farm you’ll retain.
Then you’ll have time to sit back and consider,
The ‘good life’ bestowed you and you’ll even feel fitter,
The everyday chores will once again be a pleasure,
And your life on the farm you may once again treasure!
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