A palette of every hue, tells a tale
Visions of terrestrial views, we shall fail
As a community, burdened by lust
For green, in paper, until dust

Vehicles in bloom, make the distance
No question to intentions, incentives
For a reality, structured in somethings
A mere reflection, for greater summits

In days such as this, in my mind
Shrouded in willow green, I find
Must I question, a beckoning call
Before the season’s quilt, shall fall

I am blinded, in peripheral vision
To carry on, toward no provision
For anyone, or anything in my way
Until the white light graces me
In my wake