This Dust Bowl Poem was written by our Mother when we lived in the outback.
When you live in the bush dust storms are a fact of life, nobody likes them but they happen so you just have to get used to it.
And it really does get into everything; our Mother, probably like every other woman in the bush, hated the bloody dust.
I remember as a kid watching mum, after the big dust storms, trying to get everything clean again; washing all the dishes, dusting all the surfaces and scrubbing the floors.
She'd work for hours trying to set it all right and sometimes there'd be another dust storm in a few days so no wonder she got frustrated; she probably wrote this poem to get out some of that frustration.
I also remember as a kid watching the big dust storms coming, you could see one coming from miles away and it would sweep across everything, blanketing our world in a red haze of stinging, clinging bloody dust!
Of course as kids we thought they were great, a bit of excitement in our day!
Dust! rolling, blinding, dirty, grinding,
It swirls around, along the ground, then
In the air, it isn't fair!
It howls and groans,
It squeals and moans,
It gets in everywhere.
It finds each hole,
And every bowl,
And fills them all with glee.
On every book and chair.
Then leaves behind
Clean it up,
Wash every cup,
Clean up this cursed stuff.
That will do,
Just like new,
No, no, don't hide,
Rolling, blinding, dirty, grinding,