The show is poetry in motion even on the black canvas of the night it remains a live showdown the stars one that's hardly dark in the dark.
The fireflies fly through highlighting in silver lines that could barely shed new light amid the spectator stars eye on upon it from the far.
The sea in black in the night billows with full of ink only to wish to ink a beauty spot above its forehead on a shining Moon-dew.
Looking down on it from the stars the sea in black is bedewed with moonlight. It’s not that there is no red no purple no colour it's the garden of every morning's new sun in bloom in the shady bud of the night.