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Wild geese fly with the moon on their wings, And a nightingale sits on a branch as it sings. All is peaceful in the still of night, and the moon is shining very bright.
There's only a rustle of a breeze in the trees, And to night for sure there will be a freeze. For the air is crisp, so crisp it will snap, At the slightest sound, rustle or rap.
An owl skims slowly o'er the treetops. It slowly circles 'round a tree and stops. It sits and surveys the forest floor, Captivated by mystery and woodsy lore.
For at night in the forest there's gamey in the air, And the wild fox now creeps out of its lair. It yaps and the stillness is split with a knife, Yet all else continues with no conflict or strife.
