A slight cool breeze wisps by my warm face
through moving leaves, as of a shivery lace,
to bring to my note the warm unique scent
of a familiar memory of a past time spent.
It began to seek a picture from my curious mind
and of the flower, name and place I'd left behind.
From the many thoughts of my past places been
the memory began slowly to show me the scene.
A warm yellow cluster, as a small ball of fluff
came to reveal the picture that I'd seen enough.
The golden Wattle flower as it should be seen
in the harsh Australian country outback scene.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem