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.