The Viola

The Viola

Your mauve face squared to the sun
velvet soft, centred with cream
atop delicate stalks.
- a wild viola.

Alone in the cracks of the flagstones
thrusting between cement crusts
strikingly out of place
- a solitary beacon.

I watch as pedestrians acknowledge you
stepping aside; bowing to your bravery;
you bruise gently
- a defiant messenger.

You shiver as the shadows pass.
I came back the next day;
You had hung on
- a dusty viola