Violets

A poem about a man and his violets.

He stepped up to the door, holding his violets,

His mind like a pilot's,

Leading him to her door.

Purple, blue, hanging from the stem,

To his eyes, like a gem,

He smiled, hoping to see the one his mind bore.

She answered, pulling back on the knob,

Not knowing the man was from the italian Mob.

Now, of course, came his chore.

They laid out her body the very next day,

The clouds above were heavy that May.

The rain was beginning to pour.

He sighed as he leaned down, laying down the violet,

On her grave, inviolate,

And sighed, as he lay down the violets, just four.

Reviews

[Awakened Rose]

I love this twist in the poem. It's light and delicate yet twisted and dark. Nice play of contrast. I enjoyed this piece very much thank you for sharing :)