The Dance of Night and Day
Along the window pane they creep,
A still feeling in the air.
The brightness of the day grows old.
The shadows bend and flair.
A still feeling in the air.
The brightness of the day grows old.
The shadows bend and flair.
They stretch and taunt
Yet make no sound.
The day is closing now.
The night comes in
To start its deed
Of darkening the ground.
A hoot is heard, a scurry now.
The leaves, they start to sway.
A twinkle here and there above
Brings tiny thoughts of day.
Perhaps a waxen glow might start
Its rising in the sky.
A piece or half or whole above
As clouds drift slowly by.
And now the view, a tiny glow
Of rose or peach or cream.
It is time to rise and start again.
There’s no more time to dream.
