pale yellow blooms under a silver tree

out of a legend that we do not know

this warm reminder with its pallid glow



absent all anger absent too all glee

for a short season we absorb the show

pale yellow blooms under a silver tree



so magic fills the air and what we see

is all the ground covered in golden snow

a lovely moment if we let it be

pale yellow blooms under a silver tree

When I write a song,
how can it truly live if all I do is sing it to the wind.
and though the fuchsia of the poui may sway in time,
the rigid roots curl up their toes in excitement
and the kiskadee and the blue dove too, cease their chirping in reception,
My song cannot take its first breath until it touches your heart