Virginia’s Flowers
Beautiful Virginia and her beautiful flowers
and her calloused hands and aching back,
laboring in her garden after the sunrise
grants her permission,
assuring her faith in the springtime’s warmth,
She digs and she sings and she plants
and she prays that the sun and rain
carry on their mission of welfare
as she pleads for their cooperation so
her flowers will live to be the
best of health and well-being
and stand proud in the bosom of her garden
and put a smile on the faces of the onlookers;
oh beautiful flowers of the gracious summers,
until the transient sun fades away into the abyss
and the late autumn frost comes to murder them,
those bastard killers from the northern climes,
those demons on a mission of annihilation
with their battle axes and frosted venom
shooting out of their nostrils,
those demented knights of the Dark Prince,
marauders of the summer’s plantations
and rolling verdants that stretch up to the skies,
those satanic children beasts at play with them,
laughing at Virginia as she cries,
until she gets her revenge when her sun
comes back and chases those bastards away,
and she returns to her garden again
to begin her planting and singing.
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