There he was,
Out on his own
Out in the cold because he was different.
You couldn't miss him, even with his head down
All colour and beauty
They called him, “Pansy”, they were right,
But not for any reason they knew.
All his life had been a winter of cruelty
He sighed and cried prayed and
Stayed right through the coldest times
And he blossomed
Pansy: beautiful tough.
Wilf July 2018