Primping Purple Prose
In the dappled moonlight streaming
through the window,
just a purple bleed of hues,
hydrangea shadows
melt into the night
and I sense their
lavender stories;
they whisper,
we are the
children
of
Mother Earth.
she gifts our souls
with vibrancy from birth.
Come breathe our scent,
come touch our brows,
come share the gifts
we’re given and giving;
we’ll gladly share them now
and you will revel
in moonlight
along
with us.
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