A poem by Strauss Bosho . I felt like it war - ranted publication this time of year during such hard times for all of us. His sentiments and technique are genuine and impressive. -Alycia Nathe For years and years now the rain has stayed away, Each week each month there is a promise, a chance, they say. Come the spring with sweat and blood, we put the seed in the ground, “This will be a good year” we tell ourselves, what a lovely sound. The crops start growing, it’s so lush so green, What a sight, what a feeling brings you wherever it is seen. Then come the hoppers, followed by the heat, Still we will not give up, we will not concede to defeat. Harvest comes and harvest goes, The bins stay empty, the creeks don't flow. Next year, next year is the cry, Our love for farming, family will not die. A poem by Strauss Bosho . I felt like it war - ranted publication this time of year during such hard times for all of us. His sentiments and technique are genuine and impressive. -Alycia Nathe For years and years now the rain has stayed away, Each week each month there is a promise, a chance, they say. Come the spring with sweat and blood, we put the seed in the ground, “This will be a good year” we tell ourselves, what a lovely sound. The crops start growing, it’s so lush so green, What a sight, what a feeling brings you wherever it is seen. Then come the hoppers, followed by the heat, Still we will not give up, we will not concede to defeat. Harvest comes and harvest goes, The bins stay empty, the creeks don't flow. Next year, next year is the cry, Our love for farming, family will not die.
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