Where crimson’s final passion bleeds Into the calm of twilight’s needs, A shade is born of fading light, The gentle bruise between the day and night.
It is the scent of lavender in haze, The heavy drape of wisteria’s maze, The velvet skin of a ripe plum, The promise of the wine to come.
It is the heart of amethyst in stone, The color of a monarch’s throne, A dye for robes an emperor would claim, A costly and imperial flame.
A hue of wisdom, magic, dream, The surface of a silent stream That holds the last of sunset’s fire, A mixture of peace and deep desire.
Pam Beach “Beyond the Blog”
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