The Wildflower Garden
By Thea K
The whistle of a zephyr,
Swims through the trees,
Weaving in and out,
Finding places to breathe.
A trickle of water,
Runs through the rocks,
Revitalising, replenishing,
Then it suddenly stops.
Over the edge,
The waters flow,
A drop, a gush,
No one knows where it goes.
Can you hear it?
The ghost of the falls,
Traversing through rocks,
Stones, trees, it crawls.