Viola


The dew drops dripped down the velvety train
Of the lone flower on the rail.
Her counterparts fell after the last snow; after the holy hymns were lost into the fading gloom
A frame so weakened by the chilling winter, could not help her outlive the fall bloom.

She watched the children run out to the spring sun
And wished she too could sway in the pleasure of the heat;
And give the brightest peonies a run with
Her eyes that were the shade of the lavish sunset and her skin a brilliant violet.

Just then a sweet breeze blew carrying the joy of the nearing summer
And she was displaced from her dwelling roots and onto the driveway, glistened by the softening frost.
But the warm fingers wrapped around the fallen flower, slipping it into a tiny wool pocket while some voices yelled,
“Hustle Viola! Get out of that driveway.”

And she would’ve laid there for her end, stepped on and stampede
If it wasn’t for the little touch of the little girl, who tried to find a piece of her own self in the crumbling petals of the floweret
Her eyes, too, were the shade of the lavish sunset and her skin a brilliant violet.

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