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
nice poem.
thank you
welcome