It was the month I remember
When the trees were wreathed with coronets of flowers
Bougainvilleas bloomed in the ornamental park
Breathing in the excess of their own flamboyancy
We pushed aside their thorns
Crushed their tissue flowers like broken kites
Against our fingers
We walked on flowers, a yellow carpet
Trod on petals strewn prodigal and wanton
Sat on the river reading Keats
“Ode to Autumn” feeding on the richness
Of those autumnal fruit
Progeny of an alien clime, a lost season
Remembering Peradeniya - Jean Arasanayagam
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