By The Black Wattle Trees

As the day turns to night,
Guided by the evening light,
The river bank is lent the moonshine,
Lined with blossom trees,
And scented leaves,

I find you swimming amidst the reeds,
Silver ripples,
Golden honey tresses,
Fanned out in the watery pond,
Infatuated,
By the water dripping,
From your chest,
Dewdrops rests,

In the stems of lilies,
On the going out of the tide,
She slips back onto the riverbank,
Beside the Black Wattle trees,
And the coral berries,
Her mouth opens, to speak,
Blueberry lips,
So many words to say,
Thoughts to convey,
Instead our love pronounced,
With a kiss.

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8 thoughts on “By The Black Wattle Trees

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