Carpe Omnious

I picked the red to the violet like I plucked pansies,
Humming one melody whilst inquisition fed on your thoughts,
I watched the very moment slipping like sand through your fingers,
As dreams are pretty to the sight but gorgeous when held tight.

Oh what is that which winter likes and the night as well fancies?
Not even a soul to be seen strolling to flicker the street lights' watts!
Just what shall you do if the name, in your mind, lingers?
Why would you think you are brain-dead when in fact, bright?

Are new flowers blooming anew in the dark?
Are you aware you'd get burnt by a silly spark?