"Yellow Elder" - ©A. Derek Catalano
The Yellow Elder: An Ode to Bahamian Gold
Upon the arid limestone, where the spray
Of ocean kisses coral every day,
There stands a bloom, a bush, a sunlit tree,
The heart of all the bright Bahamian sea.
The Yellow Elder, or the Ginger-Thomas,
Whose glorious gold no shadow can embarrass.
Tecoma stans, the name the botanist knows,
But to the islands, it’s the light that glows.
It wears the crown, the emblem finely spun,
The chosen symbol of a nation's sun.
No fragile bloom that seeks the humid shade,
But one in tropic glory fiercely made.
From Bimini's shore to Inagua's south,
A golden trumpet at the summer's mouth,
A sturdy sentinel of vivid green,
The brightest standard ever to be seen.
The petals cup a sunshine soft and deep,
Where nature's purest, richest pigments sleep.
A bell-shaped treasure, trumpet-like and proud,
It clusters thickly, lifting past the cloud
Of darker foliage, saw-toothed, serrated bright,
A canvas painted in the day's full light.
A hundred suns upon a single spray,
To chase the slightest gloom of doubt away.
Of ocean kisses coral every day,
There stands a bloom, a bush, a sunlit tree,
The heart of all the bright Bahamian sea.
The Yellow Elder, or the Ginger-Thomas,
Whose glorious gold no shadow can embarrass.
Tecoma stans, the name the botanist knows,
But to the islands, it’s the light that glows.
It wears the crown, the emblem finely spun,
The chosen symbol of a nation's sun.
No fragile bloom that seeks the humid shade,
But one in tropic glory fiercely made.
From Bimini's shore to Inagua's south,
A golden trumpet at the summer's mouth,
A sturdy sentinel of vivid green,
The brightest standard ever to be seen.
The petals cup a sunshine soft and deep,
Where nature's purest, richest pigments sleep.
A bell-shaped treasure, trumpet-like and proud,
It clusters thickly, lifting past the cloud
Of darker foliage, saw-toothed, serrated bright,
A canvas painted in the day's full light.
A hundred suns upon a single spray,
To chase the slightest gloom of doubt away.
It fears no drought, no blistering, midday heat,
The strength of island life is in its feet.
The salty wind that whips the low-cut scrub
Can never dislodge or the life-force snub.
It anchors fast where lesser plants may fail,
A golden message riding on the gale.
Its woody branches twist against the blue,
Enduring, humble, beautiful, and true.
The hummer comes, a blur of jewel-toned speed,
To plunder nectar for its vital need.
The painted lady and the sulphur wings,
Attend the feast the Elder freely brings.
It is a lighthouse for the weary bee,
A humming, buzzing, vital tapestry,
Where life converges in a gentle sound,
When the rich scent of honeyed bloom is found.
Look close and see the seed pods long and thin,
The future capsules where new life begins.
Like slender beans, they hang in shades of brown,
A promise held when golden crowns fall down.
For beauty is not all that it imparts,
It holds the future close within its parts;
A cycle endless, from the bell to dust,
Reborn in yellow, rooted deep in trust.
It holds the color of the golden strand,
The sunny promise of this chosen land.
It speaks of future, wealth, and joyful days,
Reflecting back the sun’s eternal rays.
In every vibrant splash of floral fire,
It lifts the national heart a little higher,
The Elder stands, where earth and ocean meet,
A symbol perfect, powerful, and sweet.
©A. Derek Catalano/Gemini
"Yellow Elder" - ©A. Derek Catalano
"Yellow Elder" - ©A. Derek Catalano