Tree

The cascading contours of the verdant mountain slope hold me, an upstanding cone of jade coniferous pine, gilded in gold soaked from the swathe of snow, turned to mirror flakes by the sun of dawn. Cinnabar glaze I get from crimson cloud passing through the twilight gleam to the fiery horizon’s fold. As the polar wind lancet abrades the frozen topography, my senses shiver in the winter chill on the tips of needles. The shroud of silence falls with the drizzle of still night, the cerulean stardust shines on my silken visage, shimmering in my dream to slice the misty air, and soar in the satin sky to touch the stars. The reverie comes true some other time, when in festival of joy to a far-off place I go as the Christmas tree crowned by sapphire stars. My desire to be with stars is fulfilled in Christmas time