Pansies
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Pansies (for my mother)
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Worry no more about those pansies
Dora dear
That row of sweet little faces;
No, they’re not those unborn babies,
Just a place where cuckoo’s nest.
Sometimes it’s best not to flower.
Dora dear
Life can take away so much
At any time, at any hour.
You found out just as much.
Better even, not to germinate
Dora dear
Or even to remain a seed.
To bloom is to be given away,
To wither, dry out, or bleed.
Even when left to flower
Dora dear
In a garden full of dreams,
Their beauty can intoxicate.
But not all’s whatever it seems.
Too many obnoxious weeds
Dora dear
Stealing all they can seize.
No place for a beauty like you,
They brought you to your knees.
They hung you on your rosary beads,
Dora dear
For you there was no escape.
Now the colours are all mixed up,
Painting a different landscape.
© to Anne Frandi-Coory – All Rights Reserved
