Violet.

My pretty, pretty violet,

Drenched in your royal hue,

Simply standing there, against the muted grounds,

Yet the world still turns to you.

You stand rooted in your knowing,

Sure of what you will and what you won’t,

There’s such confidence in your stillness,

Louder than the things you don't.

Your grace, untouched and unhurried, 

Makes you seem a little out of reach, 

But I know, beneath that composure, 

Lies a heart you'd rather not teach.

“Oh, but the waters I grow by,” you may say,

“Might just seep in and slowly turn me.”

My angel, as it may, 

The darkness might only just let your light free.

But oh, my pretty violet,

What moves me the most,

Is just how much of you feels like mine,

Even as you keep yourself close. 

From music to quiet reflections,

Put your hands in mine, my love,

For we’re woven in ways I can’t fathom,

Like our stars decided to align.

So don’t dim yourself for quieter rooms,

You bloom without even meaning to,

My pretty pretty violet,

My world is lovelier knowing you.

For my M.