a storm is brewing
over Baker's creek
and the sound of the
thunder is less than meek

streaks of lightning
have hit the tall gum trees
and scattered all of
the small native bush bees

grim grey tones have
replaced the sunlight
the tempest is ensuing
with all of its might

out of the full clouds
the rain now generously falls
rolling thunder echoes
through the westerly squalls

on the bare hillsides
the dampness soaks in
giving the soil a good
drenching to the skin

the dusty tracks
laden with wetness
which leaves a smell
of sweet earthiness

the storm has passed
and quietness descended
it is making its way
across the Clerkness wends

then it shall journey
along the eastern range pine
until its resounds arrive  
over the acqua blue coastline