You make me believe in red and maroon.
Red rose and filled me with dread as I plead and plead to just go to bed. "But," red said, "you are soon to be dead," and as I lay here, dangling by my thread, I reread what red said and it was misled.
Don't go so soon. The moon swooned, but by noon I had decided to impugn the platoon, escaping the balloon, as I grew attuned to the inopportune.