Twilight paints persimmon
onto cold winter trees
just before the dusky night beckons
them into a dreamless sleep

a subdued canvas
enlivened with vivid hues
resuscitates dead branches
and they sway to its melodious tune

until every faint ray scatters
as darkness shrouds the sky
civil twilight attempts to turn back time
and failed to convince it not to fly

the drifting sun cast its final shadows
albeit tempted he won’t be persuaded
so the moon silently gathers her stars
to shimmer where twilight has faded

undulating in the night’s breeze
wrapped in the crispness of its linen
the cold winter trees sleep
waiting for dawn to paint them crimson