Threads pale under the moonlight

Blue under the sun, the fibers weep.

Exposed to the harsh climate they dull

And given to heat they glow cherry red.

A thousand and one their number counts.

And a thousand more times that.

Yet never in all the slivered color

Gleams any hint of white.

While any hue to draw the eye

The veins contrast each other.

Desperate for attention

Combined they bleed to black.

But each part of the dark

Secretly wishes to be the one that shines silver.