A garden full of pansies, long and broad-
Faced, multicolored flower, stern or smiling,
All making faces, frowning as they fling
Away their truest thoughts--their bed's a fraud.
You try to pry into their pansy-thoughts
And you will find your deepest disappointment--
A Sartrean deep angst so when you're spent,
You may proclaim them only flowery naughts.
Their capillary xylem, sap-filled phloem,
Instead of our red arteries and veins
Don't make their lives inert--it's true, life wanes
No single bit in difference of poem.
When we learn many-thought, we'll come to see
All wisdom's poetic reality.
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