With those Banksia Men,
Don't succumb to their plot,
Don't dare set down your pen.
Yes, the wattle puffs scatter
In your garden's harsh winds,
But in best backyard races
The patient one wins.
So it is there I shall wait for you,
Darling wordfriend,
In that cold winter garden
'til your dark season ends.
3 comments:
You are a dear friend, Eleanor.
We love banksia men at our house!
There are millions of wattles out here where I live and each late winter (like, right now) it feels like the world is glowing.
Must.get.camera.out.
(I miss you)
Delicious poem.
The wattle is out here too - although we are waiting for Gary to bloom fully.
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