The new camera sits with just a photo of my feet in front of a computer screen. I’ve yet to take the time to learn to use it.
And yet I must; for how else can I show you the Crackers of The Concrete World; the determined purple row of valiant violets and the dandelion king who rebel against the boundaries of the soil to root and grow and bloom within the cracks of cement stairs and walkways?
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
SONNET
I had no thoughts of violets of late,
The wild, shy kind that spring beneath your feet
In wistful April days, when lovers mate
And wander through the fields in raptures sweet.
The thought of violets meant florists’ shops,
And bows and pins, and perfumed papers fine;
And garish lights, and mincing little fops
And cabarets and songs, and deadening wine.
So far from sweet real things my thoughts had strayed,
I had forgot wide fields, and clear brown streams;
The perfect loveliness that God has made, —
Wild violets shy and Heaven-mounting dreams.
And now — unwittingly, you’ve made me dream
Of violets, and my soul’s forgotten gleam.
© Alice Dunbar Nelson
Are these the violets you meant?
How lovely! And sweet of you to add in. But I think that though my violets are field and lawn bred, they have struck out on their own for the “big city” concrete patio instead.