As the world began to melt,
bliss showed its hollow core,
while the Automaton skipped across the cold steps.
She swayed like a top as heat escaped her chest.
Her radiant eyes watched the swans sing,
her soft steel touch picked flowers blooming through concrete, placing them in her hair.
The Automaton reached a white forest.
It skipped to the melody of snakes,
it sang along with the growl of a bear,
before reaching a grave on a mound,
a doll with white and red hair placed atop.
The Automaton knelt, her white dress now stained with coreopsis.
It whispered, “What’s the point of snow if it will eventually melt?”
She took the lotus from her silky red hair and placed it on the grave,
before she answered, “Who knows, beauty is elusive.”