IT'S ENOUGH TO CURDLE THE MILKThe clouds are shaped like anvil heads,Near the dimming of the day, Cows turn around completely, For a storm is on the way. The cocky scans the leaden skies, With wrinkled lidded eyes, The stillness and humidity, Has brought a myriad of flies. The two blue heelers, panting, Muzzles sniffing at the air, They know a storm is brewing, And they are well and truly scared. A bit of rain is welcome, For the land is acid sour, They can do without the lightning, In case it blows the power. The old bay horse is tethered, To the top rail of the yard, It hates the summer weather, His old years make it hard. The cocky sees the cows astir, Slowly heading for the bails, A sudden clap of thunder, Will put wind into their sails. The rumble of the thunder, In the grey green clouds above, A whistle to the heelers, To give the cows a shove! The cows know where they're headed, They have all been there before, Fearful flicking of their tails, Saliva hanging from their jaw! Cows locked in the cow yard, They fill up every bail, Sharp reports on the iron roof, Its odds on there'll be hail. Lightning strikes an old dead tree, It plummets to the ground, Agitated cattle milling, Uneasy stamping on the ground! The cocky has suction cups awhirl, As the storm is getting worse, If he has to milk the cows by hand, There'll be less to feed the purse. His Missus brings the smoko, As is usually the norm, Muses first the bloody drought, Now perhaps the crops are gone, Mug in hand beside his wife, In her dress of faded silk, Who would want to be farmer? It's enough to curdle the milk! |
