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