Purple like a tulip in a spring field. Swaying calmly with the wind, under a violet sky, beckoning you to come closer, and closer. A Mauve Basket coming closer and closer.
Then a hand picks the plum flower, covering the tulip with warmth, and whispering it's secrets to it.
The flower looks back at it's past home, a wild violet field, waiting to get placed in the purple pocket, but instead finds a new home, in the Mauve Basket.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.