starting with a Dickinson line (#1213)
We like March—his shoes are purple.
Even his J. Crews are purple.
Galoshes slog through soggy dreams.
Whose are yellow? Whose are purple?
Pigeons with their fast-food diet,
whose fat residues are—purple!
A delicious word, mudluscious!
So cool that our blues are purple.
Dude wears a sheer plastic raincoat.
You see? His tattoos are purple!
Eye to eye with a huge horsefly,
whose points-of-view are purple.
Oily sheens on every puddle.
From all angle, its hues are purple.
Do you hear those noisy martins?
Their how-do-you-dos are purple.
Clouds as tough as a boxer’s face.
Complexion and bruise are purple.
Look for hope in the flowerbeds.
One small hint: the clues are purple.