Ocasionally, on a breezy night, when
the winds are blowing through.
I listen as the grasshoppers chirp, and
paint the morning dew.

And In the morning when
the chirping choir has gone their seperate ways
I hear the clouds rumbling in
to bring the afternoon some shade.

Soon the clouds grow darker, as
they hide the sun from sight.
Bringing out the glorious moon,
and turning day to night.

Then the winds start howling,
calling out their names.
Bringing out the night time chirpers,
to sing their song again.