Gold is the wattle around a carpet of snow as September's sun melts Snowy's frosty breath and a river runs cold . Gold is the wattle .
Silver is the gum that shines in the sun upon mountain's of snow .
Gold wattle I do declare you look placidly in love where you grow .
Dense is the forest,
twigs lie like snakes,
silent friends ,
forests paved with gold between here and there lies the gold of the forest .
Gold is the wattle .
Clear as morning dew,
fresh and green, silver and gold.
The wattle and gum bathed in the warm sun .
Like lovers looking back ,
through the soft wattle glow .
Forests behind trees, behind sun,
behind mountains where the wattles grow before my eyes in September's sun . Scattered like gold is the wattle .
Melting through blending paths between gullies and gaps,
nature is glowing softly there growing,
wattles and bottle brushes,
silver gums on snow.
Gold wattle your love it is such a gentle friend .
Always be near me wattle .
I do see you more and more each year
as gold, old wattle tree .