The hibiscus

We have never looked deep in its heart
It carries at the top waving in the breeze
Loving a bee and the colors of butterfly.

Cognition names it hibiscus for poems
But poems are no hibiscus, with anther,
At summit sprinkling pollen on breeze.

Airy creatures will land on the summit.
They will make it a hibiscus pure view
For a stamen to nod in excited whispers
For the breeze to carry a floral message.

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