It is the tree of the May flowers
blooming time and again
on the roadsides,
A profusion of red always defeating the green,
an almost impossible presentation.
Whatever you do,
you cannot just ignore the sheer flamboyance,
The carelessly strewn abundance
Of overflowing scarlet.
For the student comrade,
It is the tree of revolutionary martyrdom
For the fierce lover,
The sole temple of burning love.
For the naturalist,
It is the tree of peacock flowers,
For the wanderer of the woods,
the flame of the forest.
In our parts of the country,
It is the tree of Calvary flowers
In other distant lands,
The tail of the fiery Phoenix,
The timber of flames.
The proud proclaimer of divinity,
The signature of the ethereal artist,
The stoic advocate of natural aura
In today's man made jungles.
One look at the Royal Poinciana
Is enough to assure you
That this world of ours
Is not just about human beings.