Wizened and bent, observing the waves,
The leafy mangroves lean to drink
Their fill of soil and silty water
From the muddy river beside

Under the hot Australian sun, the crabs
Scurry among the roots that are their shelter;
Great columns of mossy wood on the sand
Insects buzz around in the shade

The wind blows in harmony
With the birds perched in the mangroves
A feathered chorus, never-ending
A lone croc lies on a bank, clawing at the mud

She moves slowly into the water
And lazily drifts off
From the small pop announcing her dive
There is silence; the mangroves breathe