weaving

What color you’d become is hard to tell
When first you chanced upon a purple flow
Though certain in yourself, you’d heard the knell,
Still woven there within - the orange glow.
Perhaps it wasn’t something seen by most
Who want with army drab the world embue.
The white clone-capped and khaki cladded host
Wish everyone were clad in some plain hue
The warp and woof beneath the dresses blue
With ruffles, lacy petals, blooming fleur
The roundy, naveled, citrus fruit still grew
With dimpled skin, and radiant allure.
Though orange may be purple-color-blind
The purple heart will always orange find.