PASSIONS OF THE PINK POUI

Harsh is the time of your birth The bleaching sun, taking away all beauty of the earthly jade. But out of this parched season, You bring forth the passions of your ever living substance. Whispers of the cool, dry winds Wave your exquisiteness for all to see. Canvasing the floor of the soft earth, Beneath each towering tree. The stately soft petal Of your comeliness fall ever gracefully. Like the rains, that you seemingly beckon To come and drench the thirsting earth. Your cries for the heavens To bless the earth is without sound, But great things occur in silence, Just as the warm sun rises. The God of the heavens The great creator set you as a sign. A herald of great tidings, For the rain draweth nigh. Not once, nor twice but as many as three times Your passion is echoed. Filling the land with hope, That soon the watering of the earth will appear. But alas, you are no more as the heavenly windows open, And as the thirsty land drinks her fill, Your passionate silent calls are needed no more. We bid thee farewell till next mother nature calls.