I saw faces in the pansies, that lined the old, brick walk. br They seemed to smile and greet me-although; they could not talk. br They glistened in the sun-light, displaying all their hue- br The tiny tear-drops in their eyes, were drips of morning-dew. I know pansies don't have faces, it's only make-believe- br Yet; every time I talked to them, an answer I'd receive. br Just a flutter of their petals, blowing in the wind- br Was their unique way of winking, and calling me their friend. I always paused to chat a while, before going on my way- br I returned their smiles-and promised, to visit them each day. br When I left the happy pansies, they were dancing, in the breeze- br Expecting other visitors-pretty butterflies and bees. So fragile were the pansies, so cruel the mid-day sun- br Before I gave them water, they were drooping, every one. br Their nodding heads said "Thank You" for the substituted rain- br The pretty, yellow pansies, were smiling, once again. Mid-summer came, thunder roared, and lightning lit the sky- br The rain and hail were merciless-causing the pansies to die. br At twilight- I paid my last visit, "Good Bye Little Friends" I said- br Only one precious pansy was standing-it smiled, then dropped it's head.br br C.