Or to clarify: I'm a carved out Honeydew melon, empty since my mother's passing.
Pink tinges gloaming as we walk in pale
Last minutes to the car, as if fr'intents
Dusk feign would swallow aught we'd known from thence,
And lo, how naked trees lined up to scale
Wait gauntly in the fading light, boughs frail
Sans vestige of that leafy cover's dense
Mass, orange piles at the curb and sidewalk hence
While red wars green for rights to erm, detail.
Subdued, I've lost the heart to play as twere,
My niece sad I'll not voice the captain who
I thence respond to in our sailing tour
Of distant realms; and yellow flutters through
This grey eye of last minutes, half astir,
Game Over haunting all we had or knew.
Back when I'd babysit her routinely a couple years back, one of the many games we'd play was sailing the high seas. I was both the salty captain and my own hapless self. She still loves that one.