The Columbine has blossomed in December
It’s fragrance a sadness even Death, himself, remembers.
An aching and mournfulness clinging to each leaf.
The little Columbine, shedding its grief.

It’s said to have blossomed on the East coast.
Its petals searching for its own, lost ghost.
Tiny hands plucking it from the chilly ground
to adorn Christmas wreaths, homeward bound.

It watched the school yard grow cold and empty.
It heard the bangs of metallic, speeding bells.
The Columbine flower wept deep and openly
as Man delivered chaos, anarchy and hells.

Santa is weeping the sudden loss of young souls.
Naughty or nice, Heaven wasn’t one of the goals.
That RC car that little Johnny begged so hard for
sits wrapped ‘neath a tree that he’ll see no more.

Mommy and daddy are speechless and still
clinging to find reason, in this, must be His will.
Seeking reason in this horribly evil rhyme.
Wafting in the air, the fragrance of Columbine.

Turn around, this year Santa. Please, you see
The carols sung are mournful hymnals known so well.
You’ll find these children in their new homes, Heavenly…
Delivered from the fear they were dealt in our Hell.

The Columbine has blossomed in December
It’s fragrance a sadness even Death, himself, remembers.
An aching and mournfulness clinging to each leaf.
The little Columbine, shedding its grief.

In memory of the 20 lost children and 6 adults
Those who died too young to understand evil
Those who gave up their lives selflessly to protect the children.

What a sad event on Friday, December 14, 2012
© December 15, 1012 Lori Maynard