The morning sun plays in the labyrinthe
Crown of the jacaranda tree, but the trunk
Is a column of darkness untouched
By the warmth that will bring forth
Purple clusters to dangle and sway,
And drop, one by one, to the earth below.
Until there is a litter of purple
On the sidewalk, in the street,
Infuriating those who believe in
Clean sidewalks, unlittered streets.
But why should sidewalks be clean?
Why should streets be unlittered
By an exquisite issue of the natural world?
Why furiously rake and sweep,
When you can stand and look up
And give thanks for all that isn’t
Sidewalks and streets and other
Alien things we have chosen to call
Improvements? Why genuflect
Before concrete and steel when
A miracle unfolds in the crown of a tree
And lets a flutter of beauty
Descend, just steps outside the door?
© Dennis Hathaway
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