violet

it flowered again
despite the recent death
of the old violet blossoms
they hang curled up edges
of black debris
laying waste on cushioned velvet
out of no where a burst of color
a brief interlude of hope
in each chunky blossom
burnished a purple blue
I care for it as if it were the last
such ordinary flower
as if leaf edged in gilded carat gold
because of who picked its perfect color