In neon violet marching up the hill
Flanking the street, perfectly parallel;
Prolific panicles that gently spill
Scalloped corollas in a silent knell.
These brief, abundant weeks will end too soon,
As fallen flowers wither and turn brown.
How foolish to ignore resplendence strewn
About you when you fail to look around.
It’s easy to take gorgeousness for granted
Wherever jacarandas have been planted.