It was mid-July, I recall.
The day that the battle we had forgot.
For the field was now covered in a sight I sought,
Violets so many and so small.

The mere sight had melted my heart.
A gaze from the sun lit the tapestry.
A painting, no doubt, a mastery.
A sight I wish to never part.

As the sun set and the dim light grew,
A rumbling came to my surprise,
My will was broken from my own eyes.
My little loved ones, unappreciative, I knew.

Moments passed on this sacred field, I swore.
Not a single violet survived, I fear.
Yet, it was the joyous laughter I could hear.
No, I don't think I mind planting once more.