Another sultry day to its end creeps,
the air is lulled, silence grows deep,
the horizon is painted in plain hues
and birds all nest-ward flying through.
Not a bough moves, no rustle in leaves,
a lone bird sings in a tone as if grieves,
some bats flit past the dusky sky
and a wisp of cloud lazily floats by.
Slowly the darkness swallows all grey,
no signs remain of what is called a day.
Her pack of mysteries the night flows,
nocturnal creatures all are on the go.
The air’s filled with strange sounds,
night birds’ shrieks and cries abound.
As the scene grows somber and gloomy,
I’m surrounded by an air of melancholy.
Anon, I espied a dancing light,
flickering, twinkling to my delight.
A star has fallen down from the sky?
Oh, no, it is a glowing, errant firefly!
The little flame brightens up my thoughts,
ere with gloomy shadows they’re fraught.
As the tiny torch flits past with a trail of light
Its glow sets free my soul of its blight.
Hope’s face in the mirk of gloom shows,
when life’s thrown to miseries and woes,
she takes our hand, gives us a lift
and offers her blissful, sacred gifts.