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 |