The angry red sky waves mutely goodbye,
The miner homes to his wide-eyed bride,
The greenish-blue lye he dug from the rye
Stains his raw fingers and more chaféd pride.
The somber grey trees bow in the breeze,
As severed twigs twirl, swirl, in stream,
Oranging seas break waves with gentle ease,
And the angels' wing clouds ring, sing, and gleam,
The critters he shooed from his home-cooked food,
Drown in the drought like a monsoon tycoon,
While the Toolakood skips to heaven nude,
The steely cow falls just short of the moon.