Each red hibiscus flower burns
For just one day like the day-lily
But makes up for it in numbers
What it loses in longevity
Not like the rose or the gardenia
Which unfold in rows laying themselves
Open petal by petal as if
Placement is everything and time
Can be stopped for a few seconds
But it's the fragrance that's the real
Fruit of a flower all I can harvest
Stooping to inhale its secret soul
I grow them for their color and their form
And the clear sense they hold
Something nascent from another world
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