Grace (or The Golden Trumpet Tree)

I parked ‘neath

the golden trumpet tree

that grows in my parents’ yard.

 

Rains fell and winds gusted

flowers plummeted

from the tree

like tears.

 

On the wet, fertile grass

or hard, sterile concrete

they landed;

all but one.

 

It rested on my windshield

abiding the quick, fierce ballyhoo,

its brilliant petals dimmed and drenched.

 

It greeted me, as I prepared to drive away,

its yellowness

reviving

in the warmth

of the sun that had broken through

storm clouds

to shine a ray on the

single golden trumpet

that the tree gifted

to me.

 

(Photo source: Unsplash.com)