sigh*
Ahh, the violinist is finally tired
Here he comes now off the roof
And the sky retires with him
Spinning him as was sooth

South blow the winds
Returning the seeds of plants
While off in distance
Lights are flickering off

The crows have disappeared
Not that you could see them at night
And even the dogs have stopped barking
We've all gone to bed

A baby brook gurgles nearby
Me? I'm by the fire
Watching frozen logs burn
Constructing a funeral pyre