Ebony is turning to brown ,
Somewhere in me I see a happy frown.
Away from the chills and winter fight,
Just an ember I need to ignite.
To blanket on my scars ,
Fireflies will be my stars.
Yes , my blooms are missing,
Don’t forget , my roots are living .
Beacons will feed him,
And green upto the rim .
Gusts of glee and the rills of rapture ,
I’ll hold , I’ll fill and I’ll capture .
Inside his teensy-weensy eyes,
You’ll see an oasis vast and wide .
Not from the land of his dreams ,
He’ll bloom from the visionary rheme .
With the primness spring ,
His heart is rebounding like a spring .
Bumblebees around his fist ,
Because he’s blooming down his wrist .