The flannel flowers

The flannel flowers congregate,
In bowing bonnets and impish skirts.
Diminutive in stately woods,
So shy I must, my gaze avert.

Their velvet petals soothe the soul,
So subtle against the cinnamon soil.
This camouflage, their coyness serves,
The thunderous boots of ramblers foiled.

On puddled path of tangerine clay,
I squelch and squish so clumsily.
Yet soundless do I wish to be,
My ankles strain uncomfortably!

The marbled rock before me now,
Its hollows washed with raspberry tint.
The banksia keeps company,
His zigzag leaves are peppermint.

I stroll on by, my eyes are peeled,
Oh, will I meet their kin again?
A colony right up ahead,
For which I have a quiet yen.

And there they are in dreamy pose,
Exuding pleasure just to be.
Their soft grey faces harmonise,
So wild are they, unruffled and free!