The Silver Tree

There was a silver tree Which shimmered under a moonlit night, And eloped coyly whenever the sun wanted to kiss it. Spring was every night When the sky became murky blue, The labyrinth of the gaudy leaves, Would intrigue a palette to purge itself through a painter’s eyes, A blind one indeed, Since the hue of the dark Could not be known better. Once there was blue, green and blood. And all the passions of a relentless being, But through the tentacles of time Obscurity and Obsequiousness burgeoned, Rain and snow scraped the rainbow The branches wrinkled like a serpent slumber. If I had a starry night of my own, I would sleep under the silver tree, The stars, peeping through the intricacy, Imposturous but magnificent, Would let me see, what nobody else could, In the quietness, like glittery smiles, Flowers on my silver tree..