Our Corrugated Iron Tank
By: Hal Gye

Our tank stood on a crazy stand
Bare to the burning sun
White hot as glares the desert sand
And dismal to the eye.
Its lid was like a rakish hat
The tap bent all awry
And with a drip so constant that
It almost dripped when dry.

It was a most convenient tank
Wherein most things could fall
Where snakes came from the bush and drank
And rabbits used to call
The mice committed suicide
The gum leaves sank to rest
And in it possums dropped and died
And hornets made their nest.

But stark within my memory
I see it once again
When we all looked at it anxiously
Days when we hoped for rain
I hear the hollow sounds it made
Like some prophetic drum
As I tapped rung on rung, afraid
Of dreadful days to come

When mother in despair would pray
As low the water sank
Four rungs, three rungs, two rungs, and, aye
How miserly we drank
And there was none for face and hands
Waste was a wicked thing
There in the baked and parching lands
With hope our only spring.

Next came the fatal 'one rung left!'
(How cruel words can be!)
As we all stood for joys bereft
Dumb in out misery
And then I tapped the tank in pain
Those knells of drought and doom
Our tank at last gone dry again
Our home cast down in gloom;

But, Oh, the joy that filled our hearts
When came the bounteous rain
And the drain-pipe sang in fits and starts
And we filled the tank again!
We felt as if we'd riches won
That life again was sweet
And overjoyed then, everyone
We even washed our feet!