Past the time of day ,
when modern things are put away,
when the forest of the night,
swallows whole the waking forests light
with an exulting mass of chorusing wishes
a delicate hush of silent kisses;
Plays gentle on the ears of sin,
and rejoices in the gentle din,
of mother natures flowing wings

If you could only hear
the wistful natter
the softly tread patter
of charming creations, their tiny beams,
that carefully waltz the verge of dreams

you would understand the peaceful throng
of dusky crawlers, their gentle song
their deafening cry, your soothing balm
as nature hold you in her palm

So stand, gentle brother
soft and calm
hold loving near the peace and charm
and wander now
the streets of dark
and let her dreams
engulf your heart.