We Croak Out, “Abba, Father”

“We croak out our Abba, Father”
Says the text – like lacking water
On a parched, dry, desert day –
Thirsty for a better way.

I recall our fire-fighting
When the bush was struck by lightning;
And the scorching prairie grass
Sparked by trains which roared on past –

Then we croaked out for our water,
Like this rasping “Abba, father”;
Not some stance of claim to fame –
More, relief while fighting flame.

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