Roots tuck under ebony blanket.
Tree-top, reluctant to sleep, teases black sky,
clouds swirling heavy, mounting high.
And in the space in-between,
branches cradle last light in tender arms,
as if tearfully crooning, “so long…”
But when creeping night looks the other way,
they stealthily syphon those silver rays
into secret stashes,
burning bright and clandestine,
‘til morning once more arrives.