The Color of Pemba's Robe (Fuchsia)

Lyrics

[Intro]

[Verse 1]
Pemba's robe hangs on the wooden peg in the meditation hall.
It's that color, the one I keep getting wrong.
First I said fuschia, with an extra i, like an intruder in the dye pot.
But no, it's fuchsia, named for Leonhart Fuchs, born 1501, died 1566.
He wrote De Historia Stirpium in 1542, his book of plants.
The flower came later, magenta-pink petals honoring him.
Pemba wears it at dawn, January 15th, when the butter lamps flicker.
The hall smells of yak butter and madder root dye.
Cool air, 10 degrees Celsius, seeps through stone cracks.

[Chorus]
Fuchsia, not fuscia – that's my second mistake.
The robe glows against the gray walls, like a flame in the dim.
Pemba sits cross-legged on the woolen mat, brass bell nearby.
Bowl of tsampa on the low table, beige against the pink.
I trace the folds with my eyes, trying to spell it right.
Fusha? No, third time wrong.
It's fuchsia, vivid as the plant's bloom.

[Verse 2]
He folds it neatly at the mat's edge when he meditates.
The dye pots in the shed – madder and indigo – they made this shade.
Leonhart Fuchs, the botanist, never saw the color named for him.
Victorians loved it in their textiles, misspelling it often.
Pemba rings the bell at 5:30 AM, robe draped over shoulders.
The scent lingers, musky wool and incense smoke.
I sit nearby, notebook open, penciling the word again.
Fuschia? Fourth mistake, crossed out.

[Bridge]
Why this color for a monk's outer robe?
Magenta-pink, bright in the cold hall.
Pemba smiles, says it's just cloth, but I see the glow.
Leonhart's legacy in every thread.

[Outro]
Fuchsia, finally – the robe, the color, the plant.
January 15th, dawn light catches it.
Pemba stands, folds it away.