when violets rise

It is pleasant when violets appear
and the sweet one (who longs for my heart)
mingles to the serenader of lips that shall not part
as new life scurries and sways to a dawn so near

selfless in the absence of a quiet endure
she dreams in false propensities of a risen star
bashfully securing the fear of hope (as so far)
where ignorance wilts the silhouette of morning grandeur

It is unpleasant when violets disappear
and the once sweet one (who separated our heart)
no longer mingles, nor hears the song of surrender (in any part)
as old life scurries away, toward a final dawn so near