Some women dress in humble black alone:
Poor widows or the sacred wives of Christ.
To wear these somber clothes from sorrow sewn
Is to avert the world’s too-piercing eyes.
For colours do draw eager vision’s gaze
Compelled by dashing reds or soothing blues
The vibrant heart is by their joy amazed
As worlds take shape in colours’ brilliant hues.
But fear remains when black is safety’s shade,
The sullen soul’s protective carapace.
To suddenly be not of darkness made
Can blind as tincture does this void erase.
Let mourning end, and cast off sorrow’s clothes
And with this prism’s hues one’s heart enclose.
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