2 June 2012
I thought of the night, as a symbol of wrong It's cold hands wrapped tight, until the birds' morning song
And people will tell you, of the danger that lurks While the sun gets its rest, it's evil that works
In fables and morals, the night knows its place In stories and plays, a metaphorical space
For the wickedest deeds, and dastardly traits Where characters fall, and misfortune awaits
But answer me this, hypothetical friend What of the stars, which beauty transcend
They pattern the sky, a celestial show Look! there's The Plough, the only one I know
And humour me further, if I may be so bold To mention the moon, a sight to behold
Seducing the ocean, with magnetic allure It alters perspective, more romantic for sure!
So what I conclude, at the end of the tale A considered decision, I'm pleased to unveil
That aside from all else, the night time is great For it's when we can sleep, which we all underrate .
Night • Opuss № I