Bougainvillea

The sunset fawns upon you,
gilding your luscious flowers
with Fauvist lustre.

Tell me, nymphet
of pink precocity,
is there one petal
amidst your wreathed youth
that exudes no poetry,
no vestige of perfection?

Tell me, nymphet
of purple plumage,
is there one petal
amidst your violet vest
that fears no downfall,
no cankerous corruption?

The sunset fawns upon you,
gilding your splendour
with garlands of gold.

But autumn shall smite you;
snuff out your glory
like heroes of old.

Tell me, nymphet
of Truth transfixed,
does past glory linger,
does past beauty matter,
after time's taken its toll?