Night spills over the day like India ink from a well
bleeding into the deep crevasses of hill and dell
running into clear cold streams once shimmering, bright
painting Prussian blue the trees on the high chaparral.
Night edges the golden hour of Autumn days so bright
merging with the harvest moon, the solstice at midnight
melting in to sleepy hollows, pale and bloodless blue,
cajoling colonies of bats to bank and soar in flight.
Night caresses the winsome lovers silhouette.. adieu
as its hold is weakened toward a shade of baby-blue
A painter's pallet is the night of hues, shades of light
the sovereign signs of fantasy as darkness ensues.
*Interlocking Rubaiyat where the rhyme of lines 1,2&4
of verse one are taken from the end word of line 3
in the verse before, the last verse returns the end rhyme
of line 3 ;)