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.