Weary day surrenders to night;
She wears a pleasant countenance.
Echoes of traffic hush the strife
Of a long day; a moment of silence
Makes still even the Holy Ghost
As the cobalt of the sky fades.
A moth makes love to the lamppost
Knowing the warmth of its rays.
Come darkness, come tomorrow.
Will they bring the nice thoughts I’ve thought?
Yea, my heart is not shallow
But guides in a way my eyes cannot.