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Hark, now as I coo this song,

Of trumpeting floral blooms not long,

Jacaranda; purple-fire,

Transforming boulevard’s desire.

Jacaranda horny one,

Bursting for November sun,

Summer’s heralding call to glee,

Mauve-tint shriek off every tree.

Lavender snow to gentle rain,

Now! Footpaths soaked a purple stain,

Twisted roots ‘n’ tiny leaves,

Wizened trunks like crippled knees.

Northern eyes can never spy,

Winsome blooms against blue sky, 

Waikato, Cape Town, Auckland fair,

Southern towering imperial air.

I sing November’s sonnet see,

Bignoniaceae’s popping free.

The Ode to Flowers: 

The Rose

Geraniums