To The Wattle Poem by Rory Hudson

To The Wattle



Let me see no more your glory, wattle,
it wounds me, waiting for the spring -
it is enough that your perfume
from bush and tree shall sweetly sing.

Your golden blazing in the bush
mocks winter in its dying days,
yet I am wise enough to know
the twists and turns of winter's ways.

So let me not forget precocious death,
your too-fast fading ere the spring is here,
or disenchantment may come from
anticipation of the turning year.

Although, bright wattle, you may show
at times like this your coat of gold,
winter may yet resurge on you
and throttle out your beauty bold.

As in Japan the poets write
of pink sakura's poignant show,
so here I touch the beauty of
the wattle's passing golden glow.

Let it never be forgotten, wattle,
how quickly you are gone;
how bittersweet to see our lives
in yours, that now we look upon.

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Rory Hudson

Rory Hudson

Adelaide, Australia
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