The rains drummed down on Drummond Range
And east, on Denham too,
The hills and plains stretched in between,
Lay soaking through and through.
The sated earth now spread its face
From gully - stream to creek;
How fierce the rain kept drumming down,
How soon a flood would peak.
An extra burst on Denham Range
Made Wolfling creek spread wide,
With naught to stop its fearsome rush,
This turgid, sullied tide.
It struck the flooded sandy creek,
Not far above the town,
It surged across, it burst the bank,
A boiling wave of brown.
Now spreading out across the flat,
Whereon the township lay,
An awesome roaring predator,
Converging on its prey.
So terror spread a chilling hand
Through afternoon and night,
When refuge now was only found,
In swift and timely flight.
Some heeded not a warning grim
And some had naught of time,
To seek a safer berth with life
Above the waterline.
Some to stabler roof tops clung
And some were swept to trees,
There to cling for fearful hours
And hope for floods surcease.
Oh! prayers were said and tears were shed,
By those who did survive,
But tears and prayers could not recall
The missing sixty five.
By mud and debris of the flood,
Their fates were cruelly sealed
And days would pass, before at last
Their crypt would be revealed.
A plaque upon an ironbark,
Now bears a list of names,
Of those who perished in the flood,
Still haunting memories lanes.
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