purple flowering wattle’s noble reign

by the raiding roads and rugged rocks,

blooms a hidden gem from winter’s light,

by slopes, a splash of purple rich and rare,

where in every petal dreams take flight,

like scattered stars in violet night,

a Dreaming tale that lingers there,

of ancient soil and skies up high,

crying, “help!” of fleeting time to past allies,

a strain to leave a scented sign,

A treasure forged in nature’s mind.

why does the wattle queen frown?

why do all things perfect, dwindle in sound?
the crown of the Queen's land so cool and bright,

but only Eucalypt knight to uphold its strike?”

on scorching sand of bloody fight

as careless hands take selfish heists,

as mining scars her perfect pain,

her heart grows old, violet turns grey.

but in her strength, we’ll sow tomorrow,

a lasting legacy, a noble reign.