The day fades unhurriedly
To the accompaniment of a riotous avian symphony
While the setting sun explodes
Its crimson hues violently tainting the clouds
The breeze expires, finally exhausted
A cacophonous quiet embracing the dying day.
Like the dawn, the dusk is a time of reflection
A time given to a different calm, of contemplation
But the mother tonight has different designs
As from behind a hill with a wisp of cloud there rises
On the Eastern horizon a silvery, gold-tinted moon.
Smiling demurely like a self-conscious lover, teasing
Delicate, revealing, suggestive charms; the night’s eye watching.
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