Thankful for lights in trees Just as limbs lose their leaves Just as workers escape Through the darkness Wondering, if not for trees Would we ever be enlightened?
What say you? Shall we dance at noon? Sit amidst the Silvereye's Playground of golden limbs Crumbs picked off tables Sparring with families Wrens and yellow-throated Honeyeaters, whose plumage Blends beautifully In the dappled grove Of Autumn
Telling tall stories Interspersed with gluttonous Bursts of jam packed lips Licked clean with cream Tales of loves lost and found A local muse renown As fallen leaves we pine For far away spring Fawning
Need not be a bad thing Laying eyes upon the world Though one absent Arousing beauty within A momentary glimpse An hour, a day What of it? It plays over Again endless Pictures of you Parade through chaos Marching bands Entwining hands Only mine at twilight
One who admires Tiniest seed Discerns weeds From fertile grasses Known by name only Loved by many Legacy lives on In memories Seasons borne Fire spawns New life a plenty
Themeda triandra, Kangaroo grass, at Hobart Domain, Tasmania
Count the stars of heaven 