the mouth of life gaping
for a warm wave of whisps
underlying sun captured
making an accomplice
vines weaving upon her shoulder
pink flowers intertwined with her crimsoned hair
pouring kerosine on the woodened Fire
for that's the warmth she yearned
meadowlarks having vivid conversations
wishing she could fly to the clouds
smelling pines rolling the breeze
watery drop scatters the freckles
fore the day is sad; grimacing
the girl with the crimsoned hair
returns back, for a cup of tea gladly relinquished.