Half a tree
praises
sung for jacaranda
camellia, bottlebrush, Christmas
bush, oleander and others at their showy
best are fair, but my breath-stopper is the white
flowering gum for which nothing equates with the
huge cloud of its crown and grip of orange-brown trunk
even the burl, surely coveted by workers of wood, not
confined to the famed swirly pattern on dashboards
of jaguars o, I will fight them if they dare
touch one
iota best seen from a space sufficient for
a stand
back appraisal it needs to grow in a park, if not
its original bushy place the one so dear to me
in a churchyard car park belonging to toe-
tappers & callers of hallelujah jumpers
wavers, more bible-belt USA
on a bend it defies fate
proving God’s
blessing
here
in Aussie
those
little
flowers
are his
kisses
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