They lie withered, blue violets pressed
“Forgiveness is the fragrance that the
to the ground
Trodden under foot by humanities
boot, covered with dew
Leaves of green streaked with
brown
Bleed from the offender’s frown
Children’s breaths are hushed
their spirits crushed
Oh little ones, you have died only
to rise anew
Sweetly sleep in your humble tombs
until again you bloom
violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it”
Mark Twain
Donna's Poetry Blog 