On fingertips, a garden grows,
With each stroke, a new flower shows,
From tulips red to lilies white,
Spring nails bloom in the morning light.
With greens like leaves and blues like skies,
Each nail a canvas, a springtime surprise,
A garden of colors, a symphony of spring,
On fingertips, where new beginnings sing.
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Perfect Little Pirate
The rough, sodden rope bit into her fingers as she swung over the roiling water far below. Reaching out with the toe of her boot, she managed to catch hold of the rain-soaked railing of the ship- and promptly slipped. Throwing herself forward, she landed hard on the deck, slamming her elbows against the wood planks. The sharp yelp of pain quickly bubbled into a laugh, and she rolled onto her back, laughing up at the gray sky as a torrent of rain washed away the soot covering her skin.
By M. A. Mehan 7 days ago in Fiction
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