Midnight Indigo

Midnight Indigo lives
On a craggy, old hill.
The fog and mist
Circle at will.
Olive, ivy hands
Reaching scraggly up to the sky.
The salty, seagull searches
With a delicate, distinctful cry.
Gray, rocks contrast
Smooth, worn and tore
Against the wild and dutiful sea.
Silent, stillness gives way
To a distant roar.
Within this compound
A blushing rose blooms.
Awaiting but one
To notice as it looms.