Oleander

The avenue of oleanders ran

from the hollow of the suburban sprawls

to the gum tree lined road which once began

as forest track between the rocky walls

of a much eroded volcanic range.

A sea rose bound path of shady bushes

rose in stately clumps of gothic foliage

waving in the breeze like giant rushes

as bloomed on attic shores in Hero's Age,

those blossoms clutched in drowned Leander's hand.

Glorious masses of flowers pink and red

lifted the spirits of kids off to school,

gave joy to lovers with blooms overhead, 

soon to be downcast by a Council rule,

writ by fools in antipodean Thule.

Foreign, toxic, too fatal to allow,

oleander was added to the list

of dangerous pests that councils must not grow

in public parks or nooks where lovers tryst:

and the order was given, "root them out".

Brown stubbled gnomes in green livery came

quickly with chain saws, spades and loam filler,

and slashed down the blooming lot with no shame,

gouged out roots or sprayed them with weed killer,

and planted the native lilly pilly.

Now order has been restored to nature

and insurance companies' fears assuaged

we must wait some years for lilly's stature

to rival oleander's when she's aged:

vain hope for such a vapid little bush.

A few green shoots of oleander thrust

up hopefully from the earth after rain,

fatal signals to those who feel they must

with diligent hate mow them down again:

beauty sacrificed to bureaucracy.