Nary a blade of grass, stock starving
No sounds of hooves, nor mustering
Laughter no more of cattle men
Stock huddle, circle of death.

From the city, many trucks gather
Hay stacked high, fodder for cattle
Convoy of trucks start their haul
Thousands of miles on a mission.

Barren lands, station dust bowls
Tears in eyes of trucking men
So many graziers leaving the land
Hundreds of years, family tears.

Unable to cope, drought-stricken stations
For some, a gun in shaking hand
A bullet for beef, a bullet for boss
No longer able to count the loss.

Trucks arrive, unload the hay
Cattle fed for another day
Happy families all shake hands
Share a cook-out on barren lands.

City folk will haul the hay
Feed the stock until the rains
Country cousins, not forgotten
Tears in eyes, grateful gains.