Withering as I set olives in my eyes

I’m only here paint your halls with my dyes

Beaming walls filled with green and guise

Rich in paint but not paper to get arise

With absolute clover in my midnight skies

Rich in my hands with the mossy canvas

To wash the walls away in oak ridden callous

With olive vines to wrap me I’m thankless

All I lack is to be lulling and captious

Forever ingulfed in weeds with atlas