I thought the thing was fully pitched.
Its kicked out limbs had gone knee high,
daring themselves to show some more,
and fanned out hands extended curled
come-hithers on all sides.

Yet when my full eyes made so bold
as to roll down the long green shanks,
a flower crackled into sense,
burst out in tongues of ruddy gold,
in golden tongues of red foretold
a fresh extravagance.

by Amos Johannes Hunt