Ubiquitous Paleness

However dense the flurries I trudge through—
Muddled headed no place for fixation—
I grip on to it—the firmness I should prove—,
Facing pale, paler to desolate greyness everywhere.

Why even thou, the full moon last night,
Spotted that pale, morosely tarnished, upon me.
Standing and staring at from the narrow front yard,
I saw you cared for me, my friend!

And the stark naked neem tree beside,
The wilted torso and branches, sparse limp leaves,
Joined me too having nothing to hide its emotions;
An artistic view it created with the gleaming moon after all.

Yes, the depth of it I should reach,
The proof being spontaneously true I should find,
But not to show off: To simulate it is to fool myself.
This firmness, even if invalid, should stand trial along the time.