Capybara on Mars

In a crimson tub on Martian sand,

A capybara takes her stand,

Bathed in bubbles, warm and deep,

While distant stars begin to sleep.

On floating screens, the Quidditch flies,

Brooms and bludgers cross the skies,

She cheers with calm, a gentle grin,

As witches whirl and seekers spin.

Soft jazz drifts through the thin red air,

Saxophone sighs without a care,

Her paws tap rhythms, smooth and slow,

Beneath the moons’ soft, muted glow.

A cosmic lounge, serene and bright,

Where Mars and music fuse tonight,

A capybara’s dream, surreal—

A jazz-filled bath on Mars, ideal.