Oh, how pitiful is the violet,
That came to be on mountains!
Wretched, always harmed by cold,
Or stricken by lightning, on its top;
God gave the pitiful,
A short lifespan,
In this realm, for its loveliness,
A mere second of existence, is the plan,
When violet starts to wilt,
“Oh!” to god, it will weep:
“Why was I given life, O’Lord,
If a short stay, was my reward?”

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *