The new green grass was there in May,
          Then the cold of winter came.
          The chill did halt the pasture growth,
          Rough weeds grew just the same.

          As the cold turned back to warm
          Sun burned away the green,
          Leaving drying yellow stalks
          Where the feed of spring had been.

          The stock make little puffs of dust
          With each step they are taking,
          It's time to clear the water troughs
          To stop the dust from caking.

          The river's now stopped flowing,
          All the dams are nearly dry,
          We must rely on windmills
          So that all the stock won't die.

          When you see  this desolation
          Your heart begins to bleed,
          The crop you planted didn't grow,
          Another year of wasted seed.

          When your spirits nearly broken
          And depression's large and strong
          Mother Nature might just pity you
          Rain clouds may come along.

          Hot dry earth gives a gentle sigh
          As soft rain begins to fall,
          In four long months of waiting
          There has been no rain at all.

          There's new hope for summer pastures,
          Better stock may yet be sold;
          The farmer may pay all his debts
          And rejoin the social fold.

          Will this lovely rain keep falling,   
          Will the dams fill up as well,
          Or will this drought continue,
          Only passing time will tell.