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The ground is soft
And the air is mild
And the hum of the night
Is all around
The crickets play
Crooked violins
And birds chirp a melody
That sings
The fountain plays
A steady beat
The squirrels climb
With scritch scratching feet
The whistling wind
Blows an artwork of clouds
Across a canvas
Of sky to behold
The day concludes
The first song dies away
And the canvas torn down
For new colors and sounds
To take there place
The sun sets
In silent grace
And the moon rises
With stars there to embrace
The newly colored sky
Of blacks and blues
And to the far west
A purple hue
The birds go to sleep
And awake are the bats
Ringing sonar
Threw nocturnal bugs and plants
Deeper and deeper into the night
The symphony dies down
But the artwork stays awake
All there is to hear
Is the white noise of the wind
And only to see
Is the stars and the moon
But though the symphony ended
And though the canvas cleared
The mornings simple pleasures
Are soon to premier
 Pressure Sensative · Sat Jan 26, 2008 @ 02:45am · 0 Comments |
