Come the Storm
by Bryan Clark (Alice Springs, Australia)
Low growling of the thunder sending shivers through the hills,
Spearing trees asunder lightning shrieks.
The dreaming land with flashes of electrifying thrills-
Trickling down the rocky ranges rush the cheeky little creeks.
Once dead with drought, the sleeping soil stirs quietly and long,
Awakened all about roos celebrate the rain.
Pulsing comes a rhythm of an ancient tribal song,
Grand stories of the ages: tales of glory and of pain.
Cracked beds of clay lie gasping as they drink and quickly drown,
Frog’s voices, ever rasping, croak delight,
Parched grasses flex and waver, juices rising up and down,
As life returns to stimulate the night.