by Nancy Robitaille

No one knew why nor by whom.

No knife or gun, no poison near by.

Did something fall out of the sky?

A clear-cut murder was the policeman's guess.

For near his shoulder we saw such a mess.

An African violet, its blooms -- oh dear!

The plant had been thrown by the widow it's clear.

"The salesman," she said with deep remorse

"Was a friend  who cheated, but  of course."

"Your eyes betray your loss, my dear,

But I can save you, have no fear!"

He took her hand and gave it a kiss

She  threw another and it did not miss.

Now Sergeant lay dead upon the floor

Beside the salesman, near the door.

"Oh, my, oh, my, oh, dear!" she sighed.

Another violet on the floor had died. 

She said " It's best for me to run --

For how can I explain this mess

To murder -- I will not confess!"

But when she turned to flee the scene

With no one left to intervene

In haste -- she fell and hit her head

Alas! the murderess now was dead

But what had made the lady fall

When no one else was there at all?

A little violet on the floor  --

Un-noticed -- 'tween her and the door!

The moral of this tale we know --

"Do not an African violet throw!"

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