Her

The sun bids adieu, carries the avians home,                                                
As sky slips into the tranquil arms of night                                               
And her chamber hails her for a routine                                                         
The routine of withdrawing the spikes in her heart.  
 
The velvet darkness now, a symphony hall,                                                     
As nocturnal avians unfurl their melodies.                                                      
Yet, her chamber is a grave, and you hear her sniffs                                                                                                            Yet, the profound silence conquers the sniffs-her relief   
 
A ripped crimson orb being cradled by a bat                                                   
Tumbling from the sky to kiss the earth.                                                            
If only she could see her own adorableness,                                                                                                                        From a crying face reflecting the crimson orb just fell.  

Mimosa pudica, the delicate performer in nature's theater,                                                                                                        Gracefully surrenders itself to slumber.                                                           
  Her in the chamber is another Mimosa pudica,                                              
  As she discerns her solely escape is slumber......

Under the dappled sunlight, river dances to a melody,                                     
  As midnight didn't exit to cloak truth which you never see.                           
  She masks up herself  before flowing out like the river                                   
  Merely to grant the world happiness but to receive criticism.