Goodnight.

The moon will brighten up the sky,
with stars, those little shapes of light.
I always gape at such a sight.
No wonder I'm in love with night.

The animals come out to play,
but hide themselves during the day.
They prance around, joyous and gay,
in the sweet warm air of a night in May.

No-one believes my tales of dark.
I can't make them see before the lark,
rushes morning, and the sun embarks
on the journey of light as it leaves its mark.