The Jacaranda

Early morning , making tea...
Before the sleep has  climbed out of the corners of my brain
And left me free to think this rising day...The kettle hums to boil..and...
From the kitchen window the Jacaranda Tree is screaming ..
Out her beauty

I am askew and peering at this Operatic Diva
Her sap is on the rise ..Her hue is delicate ..aggressive
It is the hour of mauve ...the lilac carnival..
My brain is charged by it ....The kettle clicks and then lies still but steaming from within.

I hear the wail...
My Beauty is so short
The  flora... fauna are so swiftly stricken..wilt
And Die the death of rogues to lie as lifeless petals
On the cold grey ground...
They fall apart like perished lace
Too delicate to take the burning rays of summer.

The water scalds  the tea-leaves in my cup.
And....
I too one day , will wilt and die and fall upon the ground

But if I have as many savage springs as you dear Jacaranda.
I will be considered ....lucky.

Oh my I sigh ...oh my ...and you and I...
Beauty is a disturbing thing
It grabs the heart with a sharp scratch...ending in ...a soft dull pain.

19th Nov Manly Sydney 2010