The bucket clanked against the circled well
Then plopped in mud at the bottom as it fell.
Only one bucket then, of murky water
To take to Mandy and their little daughter.

Abner chewed his tooth-marked pipe,
Pulled up his hat a bit to wipe
Running beads of sweat above his brows,
Said, "Whatever will we do now?"

Skies were blue, but tinged in gray
Heat waves rose too early in the day
"Looks bad again this spring for hay,"
Was all his Mandy heard him say.

"River's down beyond the turnouts now.
Ground's too dry and hard to plow.
Two dry years, and three now coming on,"
He cleared his throat. She put the coffee on.

"I talked to Cyril up the road last night,"
He droned, "This drouth may put the family to flight,
And I can't blame him when I see our cattle."
The baby cried when she dropped her rattle.

Mandy stooped to scoop the toy, gave it to their child,
"I can't remember when the country's been so riled
As though the people'd done some terrible wrong
To turn the heavens dry and gray so  long.”