Phyllis Marianne Gardner
Poem by Phyllis Marianne Gardner
The purple pansies turn their faces to the sun.
All summer they will dominate the bed.
The tulips, radiant, came and went.
The lilies-of-the-valley, too, have fled
Until next year. Such beauty cannot last!
Why do those pansy faces stir my soul?
They've no exotic scent nor slender shape,
Just a round cyclopean face gazing outward
Watching. Ever watching.
Perhaps they're tokens of past loves,
Down paths I might have trod
Had we not met. So they remain
Wistful shadows of the might-have-been
Had things been otherwise.
The fates were kind to me when our paths merged.
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