Remembering Red Dust
It is said the crows fly backwards there,
avoiding red dust in their eyes
in that outback town where I was raised;
that there still are crows comes as a surprise.
Fine red dust comes uninvited in
along with scorching wind and searing sun,
to colour thoughts, emotions, points of view,
I never heard it said, 'Childhood was fun.'
To have a future all the young must leave;
without a fight, the population ages.
Prosperity is built on copper mines,
world prices drop and so do Daddy's wages.
I finished school and cut the apron strings,
figured I'd learned enough to test my wings.
© 2012 cherryk
(All rights reserved)