Violet Scent

Violets grow beyond the lines,
Blood stained, caked in mud.
Reaching out to touch the violet scent,
The sun's rays touched the hand instead.

It cleansed the hand of rifle powder;
Strong hands once clean,
Bought violets from a vendor.
Yesterday so far away,

Still young but older,
Time broke the silent mind.
Will the mind and hand, sustain or resist?
Will it be the same?

Hands that reached,
To touch the violet's scent,
The sun's rays touched the hand instead.

by Harumi Taniguchi

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