In the booklet of the sky,
You'll reckon that
Colours define the weather
In contrast
Pinked:
Yet cold
Blued:
Still warm
Blackish:
Not alone at trembling in the peer of bone
Lightened:
But contract your wider point of view
The whole question, is 
This life a whole contrast?
Through a wavy shadow on the glass,
Behind the cozy trass?