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 Grey feel inane, so he set off to 
find a less trite identity,
One as stunning and bold as Scarlet used to be.