BURDEKIN SNOW.

BURDEKIN SNOW.



I live in the tropics, North Australia, you know,
We have winters which aren't really cold.
But lately we've had falls of Burdekin Snow,
At least that's what it's called, so I'm told.

It falls from the sky, blows about in the air,
And wafts down to Earth all around.
It covers your clothes and gets in your hair,
Leaves dark spots all over the ground.

You know when it's coming - the smell gives it away,
And your eyes will water and pain.
There's a haze in the distance, a soft smoky gray,
You know somebody's burning their cane.

The ash drifts for miles, borne along by the wind,
Just wee tiny flakes of burnt grasses.
From the cane growing area to the south - Burdekin,
I'll be glad when the cane season passes.

The weather is dry, so they burn off the cane,
To rid undergrowth of the pests.
The snakes and the mice that hide in the fields
Of sugar cane; the cutting comes next.

Not all the cane cockies burn cane 'fore they thresh,
Some harvest their crop while it's green.
Modern machines cut cane while it's fresh,
It's becoming more usual, I've seen.

Many by-products from the sugar cane come,
There's ethanol fuel and molasses.
And sweet Golden syrup, and Bundaberg rum,
That's not a bad drop, lads and lasses!

Discomfort we suffer for just a few days,
It's all part of production you see.
For how would we be, if we set out our trays,
Without sugar, for our nice cups of tea.

Burdekin snow, drift around as you will,
Spread your ash, haze and smoke far and wide.
You're a sign that there's someone down at the mill,
Making "Australian made" products with pride!