The one with violets in her lap
seems hesitant, bemused
by this unexpected gift upon her bench.
 
If her lover knows the language of the flowers
then violets speak of faithfulness and love.
Or does he know the herbalist's tradition ?
its calming cure for tempers that have flared?
Perhaps he thinks of Mark Twain's observation:
the scent's forgiveness on the crusher's heel . . .
 
And so she sits in furrowed contemplation. 
Violets for apology or love?
Has he made some serious transgression
that she has yet to find out all about?
Or is he saying, “I've been ever faithful
and always will be true to you, my sweet”?
 
When finally he comes around the hedgerow
he says, “They're purple, and so I thought of  you.”
She lets out breath she'd not known she was holding.
Oh, simple, sweet, uncomplicated man!
“My favorite color -  purple! Thanks, I love them!”

© by Pat Brisson.
Used with the author's permission.