Small plastic pot, soft purple pansies,
Abundantly fed; photosynthesis.
Perhaps unable to survive,
The Pyrenees' wind so alive,
Which depleted violently the warmth,
That would otherwise triumph.
So, chlorophyll carefully moved inside,
Away from the wind, away from the light.
Behind firmly closed webbed-shutters,
Only an artificial heater there muttered.
Safe and watered by another,
Slept in the dark, on kitchen-counter.
No chance of being uprooted or tilted,
Yet one morning discovered:
Eyes covered, stems wilted.
Oh! Had I known, I would have stayed in the sun,
Where the light is needed more than
I'll thrust open the shutters,
Letting all the webs crumble,
And feed these weak stems once again,
And strengthen in the fearful wind!
Now quickly limbs vertical, stretching to the sky
O Great Light which is You, I must abide.