"What's the point" he said as he knelt in the dust and cradled the dying calf.

A pointless game of conscience and heart as he was always too soft by half.

So he picked up the weary, lifeless frame and carried it back to the truck.

Another useless mouth to feed he thought.

As he cursed his rotten luck.

"What's the point" she said as she stopped at the dam just a mosaic all cracked and dry.

Such a painful, poignant, pitiful thing it is when the lifeblood decides to die.

So she closed the gate on some more of her land, just another to add to the score.

Unable to stop her heart and mind fighting and asking if its worth fighting for.

"What's the point" he said as he leant on the shed as the truck drove away from the yard.

The last of the ewes sold for half they were worth and his heart now indelibly scarred.

The dust and the sweat somehow mixed in his eyes as he wiped with the back of his hand.

His legs seemed to fail the proudest of men despite how determined he was to stand.

"What's the point" she said as she sifted the ash in the place where her dreams used to be.

The twisted black iron and scorched chimney bricks were all that was left to see.

The smoke in her eyes and the pain in her heart were surely too much to bare.

All she could do was slump to the earth, look through the black distance and stare.

"What's the point" he said as he lay on his bed and looked at the place where she used to lie.

All of his love now a cold space in his life and the indefinite question of why?

She left without warning, no chance resolution and nothing but nothing would last.

A heart torn apart and a broken man with only himself and the dreams of the past.

So he made his way to his father's grave near that of fathers and fathers before.

A practise he did when he needed to think, to sort things out and be sure.

"There's a point to all this" he thought to himself as he stared at the marble cross.

No matter what comes and no matter how hard l will never give in to loss.

And as she picked up the flame singed photograph of their times before struggle and strife.

She gathered herself amidst thoughts so dark and gave thanks she escaped with her life.

"There's a point to all this" she told herself though her work lay in the ashes beside.

A house may be made of combustible things but a home is the people inside.

He got back to his feet as a car approached and put the battered old hat on his head.

There was work to do despite circumstance and the remaining stock to be fed.

"There's a point to all this" he said out aloud as the sedan finally stopped on the slope.

As from the back seats leaped two innocent hearts with eyes full of nothing but hope.

She answered herself without fear or pause as she knew that the answer was true.

She would fence out the dams and carry the stuff if that's what she needed to do.

"There's a point to all this" she believed in herself as she knew she would never give in.

When you've come this far you don't back down until you hear the rain on the tin.

And as the sun started to rest in the western sky he took some milk to his tiny bull.

Til with a playful bunt and a childish skip he knew the little fellow was full.

"There's a point to all this - all the blood, sweat and tears" he knew in his joyous heart.

From the ashes, the dust and the painful ends comes new growth; a beginning; a start.