“Thirty-Five Miles Per Hour”
The Winter’s gone, blue-bonnets poke their head
among a broken fence-line, near a sign.
Blue ground now hallowed, they will bloom, instead,
in wild confusion for those hearts who pine.
For those who do not see the need for pause;
for those who do not heed the gift of life.
“Put pedal to the metal” seems a cause;
a saying they would live by as their right.
Below her bonnet grieves an innocent;
a wide-eyed angel on her way to school.
She had so brief a moment to confront
the jagged bumper of the speeding fool.
So, Spring is here; blue-bonnets shake their beds;
a heaven-haloed sky for one who’s dead.
(Day 22, April PAD, Prompt: write of something optimistic/pessimistic.)