The Jacaranda Tree

Hot scorching sun burns my face
The soft breeze has hidden itself away
My tired legs trudge along the dry gravel road
The cockatoos laugh down from their home

When I reach the tree
A shadow covers me
The tree whispers quietly, a hundred voices humming
A cool breeze blows, it has appeared again

A am shaded from the weather
The sweet birdsong of a finch is heard calling
I open the glossy new book in my hand
I shall be able to rest at last, the tree welcomes me