THE GOOD SOIL
Listen while I tell you an interesting tale
About an old farmer whose name's Joe Quail.
Jo went to his paddocks to plant his fresh seed
Started his tractor and took all he'd need.
As his faithful machine laboured nearly to boil
A strong wind blew up 'cross the red topsoil.
Joe knew without planting that no harvest would come
As storm clouds now gathered and blocked out the sun.
He worked all the harder to get the seed sown
Now some would be wasted with all the wind blown.
Up on the roof of the nearby farm shed
Some seed settled where birds soon fed.
Other seed landed on the soil nearby stone.
Their roots wouldn't last long.
No wheat would be grown.
Near the creek down beside the old grey gum trees
Seed blew by the tangled blackberries.
No hope for survival, that seed won't last long
The covering of berries will be far too strong.
As the first drops of rain fell and sprinkled Joe's head,
He looked back behind where he'd sown and spread.
Though some seed had scattered and wouldn't bring yield
The paddock he'd ploughed was good soil, his field.
The seed which he'd planted now watered with rain
Would bring a large harvest, rich harvest of grain.