A gown so enchanting and unusual
Was brought before the king.
A shade like no other;
Not of red,
Not of blue,
Somewhere in between.
It was poetry;
A song
Of first love sight
And wonderment.
A mystery that
Enchanted the court.
All subjects,
Were brought to silence.
Yet their King
More so.
The silence then broke.
Where did it come from?
Who was its creator?
The questions arose.
To everyone’s lips.
Yet to their King
More so.
The reply:
“No-one knows,
My King.”
The King then stares evermore curiously at the object
That was brought to his attention.
Admiring its sight and song of hue.
“It is beautiful,
A miracle,
A wonderment.
It is like nothing seen before,”
He utters to the court.
Then turns to the knight
Who brought him the merchant that gave him his gift,
The object of his newly found affection,
And uttered:
“What is its name?”
“Purple,
My King.
That is what this man claims he was told.”
“And who told him this?”
“The Franks,
My King.
They were told by the Byzantines,
Who keep its origin secret.
That is what the Franks told me,
My King,”
The merchant answered swiftly,
Making sure his words were heard and not recited.
The King then orders the knight,
For his hands to receive the gift.
Once received,
He strokes its smooth surface with his right hand.
Massaging its texture
Between his fingers and thumb.
He then drapes the gown over his shoulders,
It glidingly wafts to meet them.
He then ties its neck string,
Not too tight,
Not too loose.
Just so it hangs;
Embracing,
But free.
Two courtiers then bring him a long mirror.
He admires its complement to his
Slim,
Yet muscular form.
But most of all its mysterious beauty.
“Purple;
May its secret
Never be known.
May its beauty
Forever enchant
Anyone who lay eyes upon it.
May it fill all,
With mystery and
Wonderment.”
YOU ARE READING
A Celebration of Purple - (By David Hurt)
PoetryPhoto by www.tumblr.com A Collection of Poems, by me, dedicated to my favourite colour, Purple...
