Quicken your pace, soften your stride
Peer through the foliage and witness a treasure
Are you close? Can you hear?
Her sanguine stamen are shooting in a supernova of silence
Do not make a sound. Do not move an inch.
This is the last Asterolasia seed. It will not bloom again.
Her pernicious pulchritude will persevere
But behind her exquisite and elegant existence
Is a weakened widow grasping life so hard that it is sure to shatter
No more will her specious, seraphic, star-shaped petals illuminate at night
Unless you are willing…
To save her.