
Scattered on the ground:
pearls of a precious lady;
wattle of this land.

Scattered on the ground:
pearls of a precious lady;
wattle of this land.

Little yellow bulbs,
lean into my walking track,
remind me to spring.

Earthy, floral smells—
hiking in this bush country;
my walk in wardrobe.

Warming their bare wings,
deciduous trees line up—
late-winter sunshine.

Filters through dense fog:
little rebel winter sun,
springs into wattle.