The music of the violin played a
Majestic purple throughout the room so
That I imagined a magistrate’s robes
Wisely containing the violence of
Depths known only within the viola.
My contention was that without the flow
Of her prevention of the witchcraft’s slow
Inviolate imagination, a
Witan’s instigation would have left me
Blue—worse, red—with such a violation.
That now could blend in this purple magic
That ears could not contain as a beauty.
Paradoxically such a station
Of justice that music’s muse is so tricked.
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