Violet

Joy the flower that lives
on a cold grey dawn;
warmth, its being gives
the pale gold morn.

Violet she who seems
so ungiven to chatter,
rekindles Day that teems
with stone cold clatter.

Leaflowers in early light
are such a mighty thing;
soft unlike the Night
and frail, yet, enduring.

So she lives, our Violet,
whose stillness still revives
the morning Joy appeared
and warmed our pallid lives.

~ Paige Chia ~

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