As the golden sun sets,
My eyes tear and sparkle with joy,
The burning torture of the day; gone,
And now the white light to enjoy.
I sit at the stroke of midnight,
Eyeing beautiful lights up in the night sky,
Thousands; millions enraptured my acceptance,
Watching is a privilege, yet not to fly.
There is more to be seen,
For tiny stars are resting above me,
They call on me as to do a favor,
I am to count these stars,
Everyone I see.
Yet the beauty gets more intense,
Of newer, bigger stars forming,
Yet my ears follow another sound,
There becomes grayness for storming!
Stars faded one by one,
Some vanished in a row,
For this was no joke,
Nor any show!
The most widely known star,
Burned the cloud,
For whatever tiny stars were left cheered,
The night seemed so proud.
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 3:24 PM UTC
As the golden sun sets,
My eyes tear and sparkle with joy,
The burning torture of the day; gone,
And now the white light to enjoy.
I sit at the stroke of midnight,
Eyeing beautiful lights up in the night sky,
Thousands; millions enraptured my acceptance,
Watching is a privilege, yet not to fly.
There is more to be seen,
For tiny stars are resting above me,
They call on me as to do a favor,
I am to count these stars,
Everyone I see.
Yet the beauty gets more intense,
Of newer, bigger stars forming,
Yet my ears follow another sound,
There becomes grayness for storming!
Stars faded one by one,
Some vanished in a row,
For this was no joke,
Nor any show!
The most widely known star,
Burned the cloud,
For whatever tiny stars were left cheered,
The night seemed so proud.
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