Long ere the night ends,
The owls would oft traverse the sky.
But would soon return to their arbours,
Fearing that the day is nigh.
Oft would a cold breeze blow,
Oft would it behold a burning firefly.
But would soon turn hot,
Fearing that the day is nigh.
Long ere the night ends,
Would thee behold the shimmering sky.
But the stars would soon vanish,
Fearing that the day is nigh.
Seldom would there be,
A sunrise in the nightly sky.
But oft would the nightly things vanish,
Fearing that the day is nigh.
YOU ARE READING
To Nature
PoetryIf Nature were a Woman and spring her youth, She'd cry for a Flower and die of sloth.
