Stitch

Pale green clinging string
Grasps, aghast, at everything
Anything that tries to sing
With golden bell’s silver ring.

Bright black stars in muddy space
Try to take to take the twinkle’s place
Behind the violet veil of lace
Beside the ruby mountain’s face.

Spinning webs of lime green hair
Lay about without a care,
Moving only when they dare
To pay the changing winds their fare.

All sanity has now been lost,
Hidden in the fuchsia frost,
Awaiting there a mighty cost
From those who twice the world have crossed.