Oh, to capture the language
of that violet seen from a window
that is lifted a bit
to let in a touch of Spring.
The lawn’s first green is untrimmed,
unruly in its vigor, now that the winter
has passed or at least
There in the midst of it all,
a violet as bright as a gem,
at the moment of birth
and buffeted by a rowdy
wind. Yet it stands resolute,
upright on a supple stem
that bends rather than breaks.
Isolated by its shape and hue,
this harbinger of summer caught alone
in a cloudburst with frigid intention,
the mercury fast dropping.
Quietly taking its stand, even in silence
speaking as surely as any celebrity
espousing their greatest expression,
its life is its message.