By Alice Dunbar Nelson
I had no thought of violets of late,
The wild, shy kind that spring beneath your feet
In wistful April days, when lovers mate
And wander through the fields in raptures sweet.
The thought of violets meant florists’ shops,
And bows and pins, and perfumed papers fine;
And garish lights, and mincing little fops
And cabarets and songs, and deadening wine.
So far from sweet real things my thoughts had strayed,
I had forgot wide fields, and clear brown streams;
The perfect loveliness that God has made,—
Wild violets shy and Heaven-mounting dreams.
And now—unwittingly, you’ve made me dream
Of violets, and my soul’s forgotten gleam.
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I ran around all day on Thursday and I am very tired. I had a lab appointment in the morning for blood work for my annual physical next week, meaning I had to drive with my blood sugar crashing after drinking too much water but no food for at least 10 hours. (At least they let me lie down while taking my blood and gave me orange juice afterward.) I ran home, grabbed a quick breakfast, and raced out again to go to the dentist for my semiannual cleaning, which thankfully this time involved no waterboarding!
I got home just as the Verizon truck was leaving, having restored our internet, yay! We dropped Maddy off at the mall and went to pick up a freecycled bed frame for the queen bed we picked up for her the other day, then stopped at Home Depot to get wheels to replace the missing ones on the frame. Maddy was out for dinner so we had bangers and mash and caught up on early-week TV: Madam Secretary, Elementary, Supergirl, The Flash. 20th century toys at the Virginia Historical Society:
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