We are the little alchemists
The overlooked overseers
Of ephemeral masterpieces
Of copious boughs and buds unsheathed.
Persephone’s orchestra
Her dawn-kissed promises
We dress ourselves in their yellows
Nimble messengers:
‘Awake, awake!’
At river’s edge and thicket floor
Sprawling seas of fairy-hats stir.
With treasures purloined
Humming back
To home amongst the eucalypts
Spectral branches and curling bark
Soft and knobbly as elderly hands.
There, we preserve our potent trophy
Gift-wrapping sun in pearly paper
Drunk on our own gold.
