Bright summer in a foreign land! Red myrtles freely exalt along the roadside. Red myrtle fronds! Beading bubbles and the splashing Hippocrene rings my ears. Could Erato have once set her lyre here to gently strum away? A grove of red crape myrtle trees. Please plant one near my grave so lyric poetry may forever tinge my bones: a red crape myrtle tree!