The flame trees at the end of my garden never move

Even in the strongest of winds

I often watch them from bedroom window

As I count my orange feathers

 

I am alone in this house

I have been so for many years

My sister feeds and clothes me

Without her I would be lost

 

Of late she has brought me scarlet gifts

Which she hides within her person

I tell her that such favours are not welcome

But she does not leave my room