a storm is brewing
over Bakers Creek
the sound of the thunder
is less than meek

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

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

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

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

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

the storm has past
and quietness descends
it is making its way
across the Clerkness wends

then it shall travel
along the Eastern range pines
until it resounds
over the acqua blue coastline