When the night is as silent as the dead
And the pack of astray dogs, silent too
You’ll hear them whispering, the distant stars,
When the night is as grim as death,
The waning moon too thin to see
You can find them twinkling in pure delight.
Far below, the spent rain-clouds drift apart,
The world still damp from their load and crickets
Have gone to sleep, tired from their chorusing
The ancient post-rain song, like us.
And soon like vapor rising from the earth
The world shall wake up too and start
Its daily chore. An ever growing world
Soon shall grow yet older, another day.