Highs and Lows

Sounds like: A child-like giggle
Tastes like: sour sobs
Smells like: fairy dust
Feels like: a woolly jumper

In the hills over yonder, on a grassy knoll low,
Is the secret spot where the wild flowers grow.

The sour sobs bob and the leucojums sway,
Their bright coloured hats out for display.

The fairyfloss crocus, a delicate delight
Is comforted, cradled, in the irises height.

Freesias blow sweet-scented kisses on the breeze,
As blankets of violets give comforts and ease.

The lemony aroma of boronia floats by,
And woolly feathered heads of the mulla mulla sigh.

In the heart of the flowers, the circle remains,
For stories and wishes, for dreams, giggles, pains.

But only the most special of us ever go,
To the magical patch where the wild flowers grow.