Poem -


There were different shades of violet when it came,
although never quite the same,
beauty can’t repeat to blame
It would drift in with the tide, 
and leave on the westerly breeze
Sometimes oh so vivid, sometimes just a tease
It would stroke me like an artist
and heal me from the pain,
occasionally landing like snow flakes, but often like torrential rain
I never knew the next time, I never dared to ask
Exquisite tones of violet, left quietly to their magic task


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