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 you can, you get them in bed,
The wind is now howling and the windows all rattle,
The lights try to come back, but it’s too great a battle.
So you go to bed and listen to the storm outside rage,
By now the rain’s probably filled up the gauge,
You drift off to sleep with the rhythm of the rain,
And wake up next day to a sight so insaine.
The garden shed’s gone to heaven knows where,
The spot where it was is amazingly bare,
The clothes line is twisted into abstract art form,
Leaves from your best shrubs have all been torn.
The dog’s on the veranda, shaking and cringing,
Toys are all wet and the kids start whinging,
The down pipe it seems, couldn’t take anymore,
Water tank’s full and there’s water galore.
The boss mumbles something ’bout summer feed spoiled,
Where’s the vege patch gone that you lovingly toiled?
You do what you can to clean up the mess,
And curse him above, the unwanted stress.
By late afternoon you’ve retrieved almost all,
And you just get inside as the first big drops fall,
The clouds gather dark in the distant blue yonder,
Thunder rumbles and the dog starts to wander.
(c) Lorna Madson 2003