In a night dark and deep lone stood a tree,
Haunted by much melancholic depths,
Its verdant branches standing proud,
Paying obeisance to the silvery crescent.
Welcoming the first light of dawn,
Basking in its mystical hues,
The dark silhouette on rolling meadows,
Awaiting for the new sun to rise,
That would rejuvenate its core.
As fragrant roses bloom,
It would sway and swirl with the sounds in the air,
It would let itself fly unbidden,
Rustling to the chimes of ever-changing winds,
Sprouting new shoots to touch the moon,
The shaded clouds and tempests deter it no more.