I saw faces in the pansies, that lined the old, brick walk.
They seemed to smile and greet me-although; they could not talk.
They glistened in the sun-light, displaying all their hue-
The tiny tear-drops in their eyes, were drips of morning-dew. I know pansies don't have faces, it's only make-believe-
Yet; every time I talked to them, an answer I'd receive.
Just a flutter of their petals, blowing in the wind-
Was their unique way of winking, and calling me their friend. I always paused to chat a while, before going on my way-
I returned their smiles-and promised, to visit them each day.
When I left the happy pansies, they were dancing, in the breeze-
Expecting other visitors-pretty butterflies and bees. So fragile were the pansies, so cruel the mid-day sun-
Before I gave them water, they were drooping, every one.
Their nodding heads said "Thank You" for the substituted rain-
The pretty, yellow pansies, were smiling, once again. Mid-summer came, thunder roared, and lightning lit the sky-
The rain and hail were merciless-causing the pansies to die.
At twilight- I paid my last visit, "Good Bye Little Friends" I said-
Only one precious pansy was standing-it smiled, then dropped it's head.