The sounds of the growing night
Encompass this humble ear;
And the moonlight shines bright
Through the clouds, so sheer.
The evening falls upon the ground
Lying softly, like a thin mist;
And a sweet melody is found
In every tiny dark crevice.
Out among the deep black
The cicada calls out loud;
Her hypnotizing, repetitive track
Hidden within the sable shroud.
Soft air brushes against the bark
Of the tree, though sometimes gusty.
In the wooden home of the lark
The leaves shake lush and lusty.
It may just be nocturnal parti pris;
But this ear finds naught amiss
In this moonlight sonata, perfect bliss.
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