These nights

These nights are spent in lonely

contemplation of the sky

with its twinkle

and its spark

and its flaming in the dark

and its subtle ebb and flow,

ebb and flow.

The stars all seem to whisper,

sending dreams into the night.

Dreams that dance,

dreams that leap,

dreams that fall about in heaps,

dreams that settle raging hearts to

peaceful hearts.

With the coming of the sun

and the sinking of the moon,

there's a sigh

and a moan,

and the horizon blots with foam,

and the night birds sing goodbye,

sing goodbye.