Elegy For The Violets

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Often now do I stop and glance back

To the long passed by time 

In this late month of this terrible era 

I see it now, in more than living color 

And I ache for it 

Even the darkness that came and went 

I see the hickory tree that is now but a stump 

At the edge of a forsaken field 

Arrayed in the splendor of golden hour 

I am running through the brambles 

Chasing the blonde haired girl 

Who died first to anger, then to sadness, and finally to indifference 

But more than the tree and grass 

And even her, I see it the most 

The violets ringed 'round the refuse 

What a place for beauty to take root 

The forgotten pile of yesterday 

Yet they grow and bloom and reach for the sun 

My memory has placed red apples 

In the bowers of the tree 

In the eaves where they cannot be 

The sun is dipping low 

Twilight comes in deepest violet 

More than the flowers of my obsession 

We part our ways, not me and the girl 

Me and the tree 

The magical place

It has become a holy place to me 

More than the chapel which owns the grounds 

I run and play upon 

At night I see it, in more than it was 

And still looking backward 

At this date 

But just as age piles on 

And those who do not roll with the moss stones are crushed 

The temple of childhood so suffered

It was but a season now looking back 

But what is a season to one who has lived so little? 

Before time has taken root? 

The grass was drying in the august sun 

Burning as it does without qualm 

When another fire came 

They burned the pile that was so dear to me 

I came to the holy place 

And found nothing but ashes 

The violets never came again 

And the tree began to wither 

Until there was nothing but dry bones 

Now it is nothing without my memory 

The young ones will never know or understand 

Only for me, when I glance back into time 

The forward beckons me with its impunity 

And I must return though I despise 

But time's fire cannot burn my memory 

Though it is said that with time all must fade 

I truly believe and know that the violets of the grass will not 

They will stay and remain 

For they have root in the soil of my heart 

And upon the featherbed of death 

I will feel their petals in my yearning palms 

Once again and forever

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