Another World

A poet moved to another planet.

It was great for his line of work.

Because of all of the new sights and such.

The glorious sand sculptures of Depdtuet.

Floating in the flaky purple skies of, well, still Depdtuet.

Filled with sort of cloudy things, but sharper, and green.

And he observed the people,

To whom these sights were nothing new.

They looked a lot like humans.

Except they were green,

And liked to be called Depdtuetions.