Long withered years
and dead lambs strewing the paddocks,
plants that were not attended to,
the dead grass of dry feeling,
that crying out for rain.
Now the storm shook the windows
till they cracked.
Sitting on furrowed church steps
I breathe in huge hot splashes
on the broken footpath
till they merge with my tears.
The southerly raged and blew
the whole empty night
and I ran out
into the raining dark.
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