Dad and Me

Last night I dreamt that the rain was coming,

It hung in the air; then I heard it drumming,

Skittering across the paddock nearby,

Black clouds marching across the sky,

The drought had ended; now we were free,

And we stood at the window — Dad and me,

Tasting the promise of a new beginning,

Feeling good — watching and grinning.

Our land had a million mouths to fill,

Each craze of cracks led down the hill

To a shallow crater — once a pond,

That now was full and flowing on, beyond,

Into creeks and rivers and out to sea,

But that didn’t matter to Dad and me,

We just prayed that the rain would not stop,

Till our dams were filled, right to the top!

When I awoke, it was a scorching morning,

Closing my eyes, I sat up, yawning,

In thrall of my dream, it seemed to me,

That all would be as I wished it to be,

Green upon green with raindrop splashes,

But my world was still brown – ashes to ashes,

I pulled on my clothes, there was no hurry,

I hid my hurt so that Dad would not worry.

We mended the fences, Dad and me,

They stretched as far as we both could see,

Where stock once grazed, but not for years,

And I confessed to Dad my secret fears –

We were out of luck and the farm was dying,

So I asked him why we kept on trying,

“Son,” he said, “Let me tell you somethin’,

Last night I dreamt that the rain was comin’”.

© Irene Buckler