The Flowers

I see the flowers in the prompt photo, rather than the weeds.

The flowers bloom in purple light,
a pastel bliss for all.
This softest hue before the night
begins the eyes to call.

Each petal, and the stamen, rare,
in dancing beauty sing.
The whitest parts seem to cause us stare
for infrared's a thing.

This makeshift card from days of yore
in hand-tint color's joy
creates a gift, that's worthy for sure,
that antique sellers employ.

Words: 67
Lines: 12
Form: Hymn-style Quatrains of two couplets each
of an iambic tetrameter line and an iambic trimeter line
with the occasional anapestic foot thrown in for flavor

by Jay O’Toole
on April 29th, 2022