That time of drought the embered air
burned to the roots of timber and grass.
The crackling lime-scrub would not bear
and Mooni Creek was sand that year.
The dingo's cry was strange to hear.
I heard the dingoes cry
in the scrub on the Thirty-mile Dry.
I saw the wedgetail take his fill
perching on the seething skull.
I saw the eel wither where he curled
in the last blood-drop of a spent world.
I heard the bone whisper in the hide
of the big red horse that lay where he died.
Prop that horse up, make him stand,
hoofs turned down in the bitter sand
make him stand at the gate of the Thirty-mile Dry.
Turn this way and you will die-
and strange and loud was the dingoes' cry.
Leave a guest comment (subject to review)
Comments
-
A powerful insight into Drought! No mention of the human tragedies but a 'full in the face' description of maggots and fly-blown carcases.
I saw the eel wither where he curled the river was dry - nowhere for the Eel to go -food for the Dingo - but they too eventually need water.
Amazing poem! -
Drought year
From guest Lauren (contact)
this was a very good poem describing australian drought wonderfully. Congratulations Judith Wright! Wonderful Poem
Adding your comment:
