A pansy in a flytrap patch

is deceptive —

tougher than some think

Like a sassy finger

wagging “um-um-um,”

the rule maker

meets its breaker —

Bold, like a man

jogging in leggings,

The pansy is a showoff —

He is a cupcake —

surrounded by muffins

“Just look at my frosting,”

he shouts at them

fearlessly,

like the first vagina

to hide behind a zipping fly,

The pansy is a pioneer —

A revolutionary —

helpless to

the sweet temptation

of Spring’s gentle breezes

caressing tender stems —

 

“NAY!” spirits

of foolish bees cry —

Those willed by his whisp

to the triggered maze,

the flamboyant labyrinth

of fangs,

in which the pansy thrives

“Self-reliant He is!”

faint buzzes seem to insist —

from not the singing willow

‘bove his shady noons

but from a crystal honeycomb

sweeping painted meadows

in the eternal, pansy sky

“It’s a trap!” They cry,

“It’s a trap!” The pansy

dances new doom