Lulling to the cicadas screeching nightly Bulging dew drops shimmering brightly Tree limbs grasping moonlight tightly Fireflies flickering ever so slightly Fairies tickling flowers; so sprightly Centaurs galloping bare, but knightly It's true that I should admit rightly Nights at the grove are nothing but sightly
The beautiful nights that make a poet's mind wonder into the deep deep lusts of illusive myths and the aspiring grace of nature at its darkest.