Furphy Water Cart
By Johanna O
GOOD memories this metal cart inspires, as overgrown grass curls up rusted wheels.
BETTER now as time soldiers past the furphy tank, the wind whispering a story.
BEST tales were woven around now discarded metal, across fields they flourished.
NEVER again will those trenches of misery gather around the iron water barrow.
LET words rust together as time blurs the pain of a war not forgotten.
IT sits, now old and faded, although rumours live on, like a troop of thirsty whispers.
REST new eyes upon the water tank, pushed long ago, spreading juicy news.
UNTIL the desperate answers fibbed, the days were ever dreary.
YOUR usefulness became a question, a curious ancient object on a farm.
GOOD days remembered, those who came and went as it laboured in the shadows.
IS the cry of cockatoos as familiar to you as the trenches in the war?
BETTER shall soldiers hearts crave yonder, as the furphies watered hope.
AND among the dancing gum leaves, the breeze recalls, the secrets of those souls.
YOUR reliable presence quenched the piece of mind, if only gossip.
BETTER will rickety legs stand, embracing every spirit of half abandoned past.
IS the rusted furphy water cart a part of land and healing, valued as it was?
BEST is the memories, a light in the risky struggle, cherished even after.
HISTORIC barrel 'twas pushed among common folk, patching up the harmony.
BATTLE brought the worst of men, remind us why we fight, a story’s all they need.
GOSSIP travels wide, sloshing in the tank, culture, history, humour, lay the metal cart.
