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 hoped 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.