Note the patience of a violet
who, when heavy with bee,
droops and bows and nearly
breaks, as the strange creature
bumbles deep within; brought
low to the ground, she waits
her release, knowing that
all of life would cease
without the patience of a violet.
What else besides a violet does this poem bring to your mind? (I’m continually trying to become a better poet. It’s difficult for me to know if readers will have the same associations or bring up the same imagery in their minds. I appreciate any and all feedback!)
© 2021 Christina Chase
Although crippled by disease, I'm fully alive in love. I write about the terrible beauty and sacred wonder of life, while living with physical disability and severe dependency. A revert to the Catholic faith through atheism, I'm not afraid to ask life's big questions. I explore what it means to be fully human through my weekly blog and have written a book: It's Good to Be Here, published by Sophia Institute Press.