Today’s contribution to poetry month comes with the people of the East Coast, where drought has been declared, in mind.
The poet, Francis Hutchinson farmed in Hawkes Bay so had first hand knowledge of how debilitating drought can be.
Drought, comes from New Zealand Farm and Station Verse, published by Whitcombe & Toombs.
Drought
The hand of the Sun
Lies heavy on this land.
The solemn drought steals on
the grasses wilt and wither, faint and fade.
First on the high dry terrace-lands
On grey cliff edges, naked spurs,
The green grows brown and fades to grey.
Parched are the high land water holds,
And far below the creeks shrink fast.
We look to westward, longingly,
But rain so wished-for does not come.
Only the daily portent-
Clouds that, hurrying up, seem full of promise,
Thinning too soon to harsh grey blue
And boisterous gales.
Is it prophetic impulse that the plants
Are pushing onward suddenly –
The great and small alike –
To quick fruition?
The wind bows a myriad bents,
The sward’s ablaze with flowers.
- Francis Hutchinson –
