Consider the Vetch

Grazing animals prefer a varied diet.
The grasses differ in height, leaf width, seed heads, clump,
But they are all green.
The clovers offer some visual variety.
White, small and ubiquitous; red, that is actually light purple;
Crimson, a red so rich and glorious that if I sank into a field
I might think I’d mistaken my way into a pulsing heart.
(Unlike the other clovers, it hasn’t persisted, and the farm is
That much the less vibrant.)

But consider the vetch of the field,
A winding, tendril plant that covers my field in purple-blue.
Not even Solomon was clothed in such as these,
A shock of rich hue spread across the greens and lights.
There is no need for such color density, no reason to carpet
My field with jewel tones.
It is simply a gift.