The vast flat planes
For miles my eyes strain
Part bare, but over there
The terrain has grown again.
A tractor dusts the horizon
Wheat and sheep tended by the chosen
Our farmers, driven by tradition
From when time was once frozen.
Brown tuffs of weed
From floating drifts come the seeds
Across further, some lavender grows
The wild country no longer.
A windmill stands great
Lost from history, forgotten
Wine turbines churn, our fate
Its the horizon, dam straight.
ps i saw a sheep do a wee, bent knee, next to tree, let him be.
