HOPE: Melanie uses passion to deliver message to farmers.
HOPE: Melanie uses passion to deliver message to farmers. Marian Faa

WORDS OF HOPE: 'When all that is left is the dust'

Melanie O'Dea has written a poem for farmers battling drought. 

Read more of her story in today's Warwick Daily News

Dusty showers of cloudy dirt, scatter the thin parched sky;

As a hundred silent ghostly hooves, disturb an earth again bled dry.

Slowly and solemnly walking behind, the farmer gravely takes the rear;

Of life and of his herd of bony cows, on his skeleton farm and his conscience of fear.


The thin dusty air is craving and wanting, for a breath of fresh rain to fall;

But anxious clouds of worry and stress, have been the only clouds to recall.

The dry soil is parched, split and thirsty, for a glimpse of green hope to show;

But with soaked regrets, the sprouting uncertainty is all the ground can grow.


Hope is the only thing that can help us survive, hope is our only gain;

When all you have worked for and proudly built up, becomes your reason for pain.

But where can we find it, a solid foundation, a place to put faith without doubt?

When all you have known and firmly established, is taken in the midst of a drought.


WISDOM BEYOND HER YEARS: 18-year-old Melanie O'Dea is has written a written a heart-warming poem that goes out to all the farmers struggling through drought, offering a message of hope in the face of devastation.
18-year-old Melanie O'Dea is has written a written a heartfealt poem that goes out to farmers struggling through drought. Marian Faa

Older generations who have been where we are, tell us the rain will come in all.

They say "Like nineteen-sixty-six, you've just got to still be there when it falls."

But it is so hard to hope for what you have not seen, to believe in mere words alone;

When the wait for the rain stretches on, while your land that's your life turns to bone.

The sun's dry heat in the middle of winter, ironically is the only warmth you'll find;

From any controlling higher world power, that will even bother to pay you some mind.

The struggle is real, the famers must fight alone, they must either fight or give in;

For nobody else wants to take on a place where money and prospects are grim.


So where shall we place all our hopes for the future, what can we honestly trust?

We find whole communities only gather to pray, when all they have left is the dust.

We know in our hearts what we try to deny, that inner conscience that tells us it's so;

That the dust - earth's inheritance - is where we came from, and back to we must go.


So what is this hope that we try to deny, simply because of humanity's pride?

the only true hope that will get us through, we push as long as we can to the side.

we wait 'till we're broken, we wait 'till we lose, we wait until nothing remains;

And then only then in our hopeless estate, we resolve to the praying hands.

So, what if we started, while was still there, to hope in a heavenly hope?

what if we had already built up a faith, which already instituted a way to cope?

Then in the dry seasons when our earthly inheritance, is taken out of our hands;

we will have the hope of a heavenly inheritance, that trusts not in rain nor in man.


So even if we have to fight till the end, with nothing but our hope to show;

We would rest in the peace that we gave all we had, to allow our faith to grow.

We would not need to fight the pride of man, we could simply rest and trust;

For we'd already be in God's gracious hands, even when all that is left is the dust.