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.