Violets.

                           ( sp. Viola odorata)

Violets I had never eaten,

never tasted actual violets,

perhaps never even smelled them.

Yet, considering her kisses,

the perfume of her breath,

the flavour of her mouth,

the aroma of her interior,

while perhaps poetically moved

and with some dim notion

of their reputed fragrance,

violets suggested themselves.

It was the experience of a night,

not to be revisited,

a youthful escapade

to tease the memory

of one now in old age.

Come spring I must remember

to seek them out, the violets,

to feed upon them, flower and foliage,

to see if they can grant me

something of the wonder

of those lost kisses.

Shall I remember?

But how blessed she was,

that young girl,

to have such comfort

ever at her lips,

a constant consolation,

drawn with every breath,

for all in this life

that is nasty and foul,

and also for, I suppose,

the casual attentions

of the odd thieving toad.