I am a Gulmohar Tree

Down by the Chapel, across the highway street
I have a quiet home, I am a Gulmohar tree
My hands filled with green, a little yellow here and there
Red flowers on some, hues – pink, orange and pear

My leaves as they turn, into sunny gold
I let them all twirl, and let the others mold
Those leaving the crew twirl down with élan
Petals, of flowers red, emotions you can darn
That’s me here I discuss, find an unspoiled girth
Of wind and water, of muddy ground of earth

On a Sunday morning, when I watch families pass
All have calmness written… their faces, not of brass
A boy comes around confessing a little prayer
For a girl so lovely, whom he’d always care
After school, the teacher let’s all children go
Eat, play and be cheery, and make friends and foe

As I watch these scenes, a desperate wish arise
Many years from now, I watch all these things nice
I wish to be here always, watching everybody twirl and mold
I am a Gulmohar tree; do not cut me until I grow old!!

(Written by Pallavi Gupta)

(Note: This poem has 2 meanings… one… for nature and another for a Girl Child)