Purple of the hill


Call me brown lotus, born of the eastern winds
My petals were once purple, as rich as the eyes could dream
But there are some things not even time could recover
Some things too far and lost to be discovered

Call my name when you want my attention
And I’ll sway beyond your comprehension
With a melody of whispers, maybe a symphony of breaths
For the seconds not remembered and hours never to forget

Seed of the troubled seas
Born of the eastern winds
Call me brown lotus, or purple of the hill
And I’ll appear in this form, or something more surreal

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