The name sounds alien,
But it seems to be ours,
Belonging to the earth.
There might not be a more enchanting thing,
Than these Northern Lights;
In green and pink,
Like curtains in the sky,
Ready to be raised,
Unveiling a beautiful surprise.
The spectators are less,
(About only a million,)
But the scene keeps on going,
The lights dancing,
Apparently,
To some silent,
Unheard beats.
It looks to have captured my eyes,
For they are glued to it.
And wouldn’t stop gazing,
Till the end of the life.
The green becomes lighter,
With a tinge of pink,
Then the pink dominates.
It looks like a confused kid’s painting,
Unable to decide, which colour to choose,
For the shades keep on changing.
The snow in dark,
Having only these to reflect,
Looks so pure,
So serene,
And frozen,
As it should be.
And still,
As it could be.
Dec 18, 2015
Dec 18, 2015 at 12:40 PM UTC
The name sounds alien,
But it seems to be ours,
Belonging to the earth.
There might not be a more enchanting thing,
Than these Northern Lights;
In green and pink,
Like curtains in the sky,
Ready to be raised,
Unveiling a beautiful surprise.
The spectators are less,
(About only a million,)
But the scene keeps on going,
The lights dancing,
Apparently,
To some silent,
Unheard beats.
It looks to have captured my eyes,
For they are glued to it.
And wouldn’t stop gazing,
Till the end of the life.
The green becomes lighter,
With a tinge of pink,
Then the pink dominates.
It looks like a confused kid’s painting,
Unable to decide, which colour to choose,
For the shades keep on changing.
The snow in dark,
Having only these to reflect,
Looks so pure,
So serene,
And frozen,
As it should be.
And still,
As it could be.
Wrote this on July 13, 2015