The Bakula Poem by Dorothy Sinha

There is a Bakula tree,
right before my home
shelters a thousand birds
and a garden gnome

Its flowers white
star like
when bloom in dozens
lend a lingering fragrance

The ants throng
the enticing smell, can they go wrong?
even in the wee hours, I saw a bee
drunk with honey, rolling in glee

Also a squirrel which scurried
with nuts that it carried
sat on its branches and relished his crunches
it was home to the birds who lived in herds

I woke up each morning
to the flap of their wings
their twitter and chatter
As they discussed important matter

One day below the tree, there was none but me
My Bakula shy as ever, in a nervous quiver
fluttered its leaves
And sent a shower of tiny flowers, at the slightest hint of breeze