
Beside the grass,
still bare and brown from winter’s kill,
and lodged between the weathered wooden steps
and garden’s rocky edge,
New Brunswick’s violet,
scratches out a place to grow.
In this often harsh and unrelenting land,
delicate purple flowers
reach toward early summer’s sun,
giving us
the gift of hope restored.
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These unassuming purple beauties must be happy to have a poem written for them!
Aren’t we all unassuming creatures? Don’t we all deserve a poem?