The sunset's its prelude,
In the atmosphere lies a silent flute;
Then the dark begins its sonata,
Full of mystery... the appearing twinklers are.
The moon may be shy,
Even when birds hardly fly;
Her mood and looks vary,
By how she exposes her beauty.
The rhythm's slow ~~ the night's sleepy,
The breeze sweeps gingerly;
The stars shilly-shally,
Its the crickets shift to chirp ~~ whether free or busy.
It then summons the night shadow,
Wherever we go;
He will follow,
Not a friend nor a foe.
Just a glimmer,
Just a shimmer;
Only moonlight,
Its the Night.
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