Viola
In the first day of the month of rain
She blushed forth from the earth
Beneath the verdant canopies
Of her sylvan homestead
Every dawn, she smiled at the sun
Beaming at her idol’s daily passage
Posing in perfect stillness
Until her face fell with the day
As the night’s veil unfolded
Her eyes skywards turned to hear
The beckoning voices of the singing stars
And the sighs of the downcast moon
For many cycles she thus stood
A green youth at first, reserved and demure
Always precocious, ever apprehensive
To find her footing beneath a towering sky
Finally she made her wardrobe
And adorned a fair dress of aubergine
Her soft feet ensconced in earthy shoes
With wild hair bearing a light perfume
She thought herself too much
And denied the multitude of pests
Or the buzzing overtures of many suitors
To stay alone within a blooming world
At last he stumbled and found her
Gently plucking her roots from the soil
Softly placing her in a glass vase
As a gift for his assignation
When the two lovers had left
She alone remained at the windowsill
To contemplate her new milieu
And smile at the sun again
|