This piece was written for Sammi Cox’s Weekend Writing prompt of ‘dire’, in 58 words.
She scanned her current dresses;
none of them inspired.
Unlike her titian tresses
her wardrobe just looked tired.
She hied herself to the dyer,
begged her urgent haste
‘Colour this so all admire
my epitome of taste.’
The gown, wrapped in paper cream,
unwrapped in breathless hope
‘Die, you dire dyer!’ was her scream
‘Whoever would wear taupe?!’