Red and Green

The cherries are red and the leaves green and shining in the noon sun of Khordad. Where did that bruise-blue branch go? That naked branch which you said in another moment would break in the gale of Dey would break under the blow of the downpour would break from the cold of the snow on its thin bare shoulders. This withered, empty branch which you said not even the crows would stay with. The cherries, cradles of the hidden stone, in shining green curtains hang from the high branch. Where is that branch? That lonely branch? In the noon sun of Khordad the cherries are red...