Over a sea of grief, Scarlet died.
Above her dying mind were fossilfied memory
Imprints of her favorite day.
For a minute, I stayed watching this brilliant display,
Until a god with a broom came and swept them away.
In their bereavement, all of her colorful friends
Turned to a milky-grey depressing blend,
Which incidentally made Gray feel inane,
So he set off to find a less trite identity,
One as stunning and bold as Scarlet used to be.
