The moist soil sweltering
under the apricot flare.
The velvet terracotta
sweetly embracing the lifeblood
of the sprouting green stalks which rise from the earth.
The fetid aroma of the sapphire fertilizer,
but all forgotten for sprouting green stalks rise from the earth.
The course reeds rose beyond feeble seeds,
prime, petty, pearly beauties.
Though small and fragile
the crimson fruit that you will soon bare.
Fed by a deluge rains
you shall soon grow.
The dew drops about to overflow
from the sweet lush petals you have begun to grow.
You’ve grown my dear,
like a child, so young, but grown old so soon.
You’ve protracted yourself beyond my wildest dreams,
your torn velvet terracotta can no longer be your home.
Must I set you free?
Your crimson fruit no longer small,
your green stalks have risen, you must be set free.
You plunge with hands and spades towards a new home,
a new beginning.
You begin anew.
Your fruits have been repeated,
your roots slaughtered by unearthly earthworms.
Must you go so soon,
must I truly set you free?
Your petals scorched from the amber blaze,
no longer shall I gaze
upon your wretched demise,