Violet took quickly to her namesake.
Childhood imp and very active child,
she continually sang, half-shouted

I’m a one-eyed, one-horned,
flyin’ purple people eater
zooming round the house.

Cape billowing behind her,
gramma’s purple organza apron
pilfered for special effects.

Decades later, Miss Violet,
now the town’s eccentric spinster,
specialized in all things purple.

Her garden, replete with verbena,
bearded iris, campanula,
and sweetly scented lilac bushes.

Regular church goer she was.
Doused in lavender eau de cologne,
her scent preceded her down the aisle.

Her orchid shaped brooch
sparkled with amethyst gem stones
upon her heliotrope cloche hat.

She hugged parishioners and priest alike
saying her goodbyes.
Shedding from her feather boa
gifting them all a bit of her purple.

Written for NaPoWriMo day 21. Today we’re to explore a color in a poem. Image from Bing Create.