Baby's breath kisses the merlot tide of disease,
A brindled sea holds the white orchid of blanched dittany's.

Moonflowers scintillate with each cradle of dusk,
While Stars marl the sky, veiling over in cosmic musk.

During quietude, swans tread the ichor in a pearlesque flotilla,
The poison ripples beneath them as they thread between silk lilies and ivory scilla.

The gore strewn water continues to fester with pulsating, ripe, bile,
Despite all, the huddle of infancy will remain ever fertile.