A weaver bird held a steady grip on the line
Contrasted partner’s oomph partly dissipated
The rattled ranting male looked tattered in the scrap
Derelict and unable to return the craze
With misgivings on both sides, they bunged the pastime
Seemingly quizzical, she chased out her lover

try taste the shades of sunshine, drink in the changing hue
that tint the aura outline surrounding Uluru
there see the desert sing soft, while painting in review
the Dreamtime and its secrets, from red to violet blue

eternal in the Dreaming, before and after end
a record of creation, deep in landscape penned
there, too, resides life’s sacredness in every groove and bend
communicate with spirits when touching them my friend

the body soft and milky white,
the curves indented and smooth …
the twist in the waist line does resume
a natural spontaneous desire
upon young minds to assume
the presentation of the twisted
snaky, wavy curves of a damsel in despair
awaiting her lover, are an open invitation,
to who so ever dares to devour
and
drink sweet poison from mountains and valleys,
subject to the passion of those
yet virgins in body, soul and mind
the bubbling youth ready for a take,
the valleys and mounds at stake,

With autumn just around the bend
on this warm late August day
worn summer leaves look near their end
as green fades and edges fray.
They prepare to end their stay.

The limbs which hold them look worn out
from burdens born through countless showers
when hard rains pelt and fierce gales shout
but usually for just a few hours
then tempests end and lose their powers.