Short Wattles Poems

Listen to poem:

August down under is winter torn asunder.
Under leaden skies, lightning clouds make thunder.
Gardens revive, buds pop, the yellow wattles bloom.
Unfolding butterfly wings, like feathers arrayed, plume.
Sunny days with showers, mist the air with scent.
Titillated taste buds arise, foretelling spring's ascent....

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I do ponder on Aristotle,
In these groves of golden wattles,
Was Aristotle on the bottle?
"What is beautiful?" he asked,
He set us such a puzzling task,
How to define beautiful?
Maybe, things inspirational,
Or, indeed, something admirable,
A pretty verse, so lyrical,
Or scenery beautiful,
Or a woman, lovable,
Maybe it is a life of harmony,
Are these beautiful, prithee?
Excellent question, Sir Aristotle,
Maybe I should hit the bottle!...

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