strelitzia reginae

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You point your long accusing blue finger
(almost purple in its intensity)
at the sky,
flinging your orange tendrils to the wind.

“Come,” you taunt.
And the melodic “tweep, tweep, tweep”
of the olive sunbird
tumbles from the tree with the tiny winged nectar-grabber
as he lights on your perch-like snare.

Tipping forward to thrust his tubular tongue
into your pot of sugar gold,
he opens your petals
covering his feet and belly with powdery pollen.

As he leaves you gracefully hold your head high
and wait for the next compact interloper.

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