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THE CORRUGATED NATION - Maureen Clifford © The #ScribblyBark Poet
The corrugated congregation stands and bows their heads in prayer
in the red roofed rusty church. They worship there.
You can see these folks are workers, never shirkers, it’s ingrained
in their psyche – these folks born on red soil plains
And they all roll with the punches and they take what is dished out,
they are great to have as neighbours of that fact there is no doubt.
They are good men in a stoush, and they shout when it’s their shout.
These are the heart of this corrugated nation.
They travel miles and miles each year on corrugated roads,
taking cattle to the markets and returning with a load
of corn and hay and fodder, and sometimes tractor tyres.
New chains to fit on bulldozers to pull out trucks now mired
axle deep in red mud – sticky; where the floods have rushed on through
making the fencing pretty tricky – but what’s a man to do?
These are Aussies tough and hardy, ridgey didge and real true blue,
their tired faces lined with countless corrugations.
The last year has been a hard one but they’ve weathered quite a few.
Come to think of it the last decade hasn’t been flash – that’s true
But when you live in this country you take the good with the bad,
and the old house was still standing – Lucky for it’s all they had.
For years it’s weathered every storm and even survived flood
standing out there on the red soil plains – now just a sea of mud.
For this land they’d toiled and sweated and at times even shed blood
and all around them where they stood were corrugations.
They had corrugated roofing iron and corrugated walls,
corrugations in the paddocks where the contours rise and fall,
corrugations on the dirt road, where the bull dust blew away,
corrugations in the creek crossing where flood waters had played.
There were wrinkles in their faces, also crinkles in their skin
and the wear lines in their RM boots and jeans were looking thin,
but each corrugation had been earned and had been theirs to win
and I reckon they deserve congratulations.
So raise you glass and drink a toast – come on Aussies you can boast
though she send us drought and flood and conflagration.
We might rust and we might bend, but we’re undaunted to the end
holding on as tough as nails in corrugations.
see some scribbles here - http://scribblybarkpoetry.blogspot.com.au/