The Waratah and the Wind

The waratah slowly shakes to the rhythm of the wind;

s l o w l y  s w a y i n g  t o  t h e  w i n d.

Red as burning desire;

a confession, a passion.

Firm stem bending to the gusts of the breeze;

e v e r  s o  s l o w l y.

The honey bee flies and touches it delicately;

handling it with care, as if it were its ambrosia—

its gold, its life.

The waratah and the wind, ebbs and flows;

s l o w l y  t o  t h e  r h y t h m  o f  t h e  w i n d.