Purple escaped when no one was looking,
leeching from springtime irises, leaving them faded and spent.
Purple vanished, riding the wind until it was captured
by lowly ironweed,
waving to us from the side of the road.
Consider the lilies how they grow: they toil not, they
spin not; and yet I say unto you, that Solomon in all
his glory was not arrayed like one of these.