Before, before bereavement, deadness

dull grey daily grief

she would have cried out loud

spying such a pretty thing

so oddly there, by merest chance

wild colour! calling out to her so bold

imagining her love's response, his eager eyes, deft hands

Now pointless, all such feelings dead and gone, of course

Six long years past . . . she shrugged, sighed, walked away

and yet, in minutes turned right back

snatched up that tiny curve of furry silk —

she rescued it! or so it almost seemed

judging by her sudden hurried steps,

fast grab of her two hands as she gripped hanger hook

took purpled prize to curtained booth

in cold day air shook, shivered, stripping off —

in mirror swift discovered, as if meant

strange garment was indeed a perfect kissing fit

***

(part 3, conclusion of "magenta velvet," follows)