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Pansy-Man
November 11, 2015
each day that the sun rose,
he would be there.
he was there in the deep viridian hours before dawn,
in the waxing heliotrope of dusk.
he weathered the silver bullets,
raining down from the ethers.
he hungered below Earth’s staid torch.
it was he, and none else.
and he would often rend my heart,
with his quiet hands
and knowing eyes,
with his seraph brow
and the high-color of his mind.
yet he was faithful to the flowers
and left a pansy in my bed.
© Laurie T., Hopkinton, MA
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