Last Shot

• Thomas Donaldson, Grade 8
• Poetry
• 2019

Cattle in the paddocks,
didn’t get a bit,
so much for a bale,
or even half a sip.
Dams once full of water
but all that's left are weeds,
attacked by blazing sunshine,
all brown and drained of green.
Waves of dust are constant,
tearing up our eyes,
the suffer that I'm seeing
of Mum and Dad will rise.
A drought can be life taking,
so buckle up you lot,
take your finger off the trigger,
and save that….one last shot.