When there’s not much time
for the pink, pastel petal
to latch onto her glowing ember
she must become creative.
She must fly away
to the verenadant valley
so that she may sit in the sun.
She must tilt her head back
and soak up the chartreuse rays.
They’ll speak to her, these rays,
in the native nature language
that we all secretly speak,
and say encouraging things
about blossoming inspiration.
The grass blades join in, adding the
granatuous grins of other petals
while the river sings about
peeling paper which withers
slowly to the flantaniut floor.
Hours of seconds pass
and at long last
she must grin and laugh
but eventually say her heartfelt goodbyes.
She must raise her head to the sky
and allow the chartreusian rays,
speaking their chartreusian language,
to pull her away,
back to her safe, little cove
off the shore of the Marlania Ocean.
The blue and silver soaked waves
of the Marlania Ocean.