And here they are, the wild violets.
How they leap into gardens uninvited,
their tiny purple faces unapologetic, open.
How they thrive amidst the other plants
chosen by the gardener. They do not mind
not being the chosen ones. They thrive.
Tenacity can be so small, so beautiful.
I may not be a powerful woman,
but I have some wild violet in me,
some willingness to insist on renegade beauty,
some desire to be soft and yet persist,
some certainty that the garden
is big enough for us all.
Thanks, Rosemerry, you have lavish sensitivity about the right words
Ah, Richard, I love this comment. Thank you. at the least i do love to romp around in them …
[…] Inspired by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer’s “Viola papilionacea,” as published July 29, 2018, on her website, A Hundred Falling Veils […]
so yes … so yes, great poem, friend!
[…] Inspired by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer’s “Viola papilionacea,” as published July 29, 2018, on her website, A Hundred Falling Veils […]