The world is grey.

The world is grey

But I am not.

My colors stay.

I’ll take the lot.

The gloom surrounds

Soft and mute.

Deep in the ground

My hues take root.

They spread and change

with every leaf.

The bright and strange

Some fleeting — brief.

I know no rules.

I won’t be stopped.

They shine like jewels

Their glints — they hop.

And when the moon

shines just right,

upon my leaves strewn

with pale, pure light —

a rainbow flashes

through the eve

and throws bright splashes

on strange grey leaves.

They must concede,

for I am odd.

My colors bleed

and stain their fraud.

For they are bright.

Just like me.

In sweet sunlight,

you will see.

The grey is there —

A cover. A ruse.

A disguise for bare

and different hues.