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Á¦¸ñ: Harvest
°¡¼ö: Colin Buchanan



The crops have just started to turn golden brown,
Patches of green on retreat
The last of the spring rains have swollen the grain
Harvest will soon be here

Ron took delivery of his header last week
And there¡¯s contractors rolling through town.
The sight of the trains by the silos betray
Harvest will soon be here

The Patterson¡¯s Curse turns from purple to grey
The wet winter slips into the past.
The sprinklers are showering the lawns around town
Harvest will soon be here

The feed in the long paddock dries in the sun.
Only the lucerne is green
Talk by the bar is of prices and yields
Harvest will soon be here

So will this be the year that the silos run full
The year that the headers run slow
The year that the grain trucks will stretch to four deep
When the harvest is here.

Or will this be the year of the hail or the fire
Has takeall hit heavy and hard?
Will we climb out of debt or just sink deep still?
We¡¯ll tell when the harvest is here
We¡¯ll tell when the harvest is here.



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Harvest
Colin Buchanan



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