In the winter gloom

Blooms the wattle tree.

A silent testimony

That defies the winter frosts;

A promise of new birth

In the spring.

When all is bare and white,

The frost burnt grass

A brown sludge,

Stringently stretching

To at least give an impression

Of covering and protecting

The cold ground;

When grey clouds loom

Every day

And winter winds

Shriek through the storm tossed scrub,

Harassing the gums

To huddle their olive gowns

Close to them;

The wattle stands

Silently

Spilling its courage

In sprays of golden hue;

Surprising the winter wind;

Meeting its teasing challenge

With little puffs of golden delight;

Rather than cowering

To the icy blast.

And before long

The winter wind

Gives up its fight

And lays to rest

Its fierce aggression,

Melting in the face

Of this golden gown of glory.

Yes, heed well,

The wattle tree

In winter.

by Diane Simmonds

Members each month, the meets at are held in the Club Mudgee, first floor in room 2.

Second Tuesday at 12pm to 3pm.  All are welcome.

“We encourage members to think of and try fun and creative writing ideas at the meetings.”

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