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Maureen K Clifford
Posts: 7708
Joined: Tue Nov 09, 2010 10:31 am
Location: Ipswich - Paul Pisasale country and home of the Ipswich Poetry Feast


Post by Maureen K Clifford » Tue Jul 09, 2019 2:22 pm

SHE'LL BE RIGHT .. Maureen Clifford ©

And once again a nation stands – hard to believe our eyes
Mother Nature with ire has struck – unleashed her wild desires.
She's sick of drought and fire, and of heat and sunburnt plains
so she’s checked her weather diary and has sent her biggest rains.

She started in the middle where the worst bushfires held sway,
where the land was scorched and blackened and it struggled still each day.
Sent the lifeblood of her waters to fill up the inland streams
and replenish water tables where no water has been seen
for more years than some folks could count – where land was parched and dry
and the planted crops have perished, ‘neath the cloudless azure sky
then she’s moved up to the top end sprinkling along the way
like a small mischievous elf who just wanted us to play.

Now the old girl’s got quite serious and from the heavens poured
water and still more water – now the whole state must endure
the endless drip of rain on roof, the roar of rivers coming ...
still undeterred she’s sent down more till all rivers are running.

Now she has a cyclone brewing somewhere on the western side
and it seems they too will feel her ire – she isn’t at all tired.
And you have to wonder what she has in store for all of us
who treat her with impunity and turn her soil to dust.

She's far stronger than puny man – despite technology
that she casts aside in fury – from the sky, on land and sea
and despite our smartest scientists and our computer nerds
what the Mother wants the Mother gets, by us she’s undeterred.

As I listen to the radio to hear the latest warnings
of the river waters rising – now for sunlight I am yearning.
I hear an old familiar tune recalled from long ago
when I used to go to Sunday school – and its words I still know.
For the words still hold as true today as they did way back then
and they once gave hope and courage to the souls of dying men
as Titanic foundered downwards to her deep and watery grave
the band played on. Eight young brave men – not one of whom was saved.

‘Nearer my God to thee’ they played, unflinching to the last
though the deck was nearly vertical - the ship was sinking fast,
and though whilst we might be flooded, as it seems is half the state
I suspect we’ll be survivors – like before – She’ll be right mate.
Check out The Scribbly Bark Poets blog site here -

I may not always succeed in making a difference, but I will go to my grave knowing I at least tried.

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