STOMPED ON VIOLETS
Once I noticed violets growing round the bole of a tree,
Quite a pretty cluster dancing in the breeze quite merrily,
I called the children over and they admired the flowers,
Such a deep blue so delicate they could not last many hours,
Next day there were still there growing well in the spring,
The sun warming their tiny petals, they seemed to want to sing,
And to many passers by some joy they did spread around
As in the busy city this pleasing sight was quietly found.
Then a youth came all surly and out of sorts with life,
He just to wanted to cause others some pain and strife,
He saw the pretty violets, ‘Aren’t they pretty’ I said,
He turned and scowled at me a look wishing me dead.
Then he went close and stamped hard trying to destroy
The pretty violets, three stomps and they did annoy
The youth for they tried to raise their heads though hurt
Then he stomped harder and crushed them in the dirt.
‘They are only silly flowers’ he said when he saw my face,
‘I suppose you think me nothing but a terrible disgrace’
I shook my head in sorrow, ‘I can help you if you would
Let me, but I don’t suppose for a moment that you would.
I turned away, then heard a voice, ‘it sounds as though you care,
Wanting to help me and for me at times be waiting there.’
I nodded and asked his name and from whence he came,
With a little loving care a great man he one day became.
(Millicent) Ann Margetson 16 May 2005