When the sparkling Sun has fallen,

Darkness drags across the land,

Then I hear the stars callin’

And I wait, my pen in hand.

Some nights they speak of nothing,

So I hold my pen in vain.

But on other nights, the whispering,

Fills my pages once again.

One night they are occluded,

And I grudge the clouds their view.

Another night and I’m moon saluted,

Surely such scribbled similes are new.

Stars and Moon, Night and Wind

I think they are not the only ones to call,

The whispering of other voices, I do not hear

Not yet, perhaps someday I’ll write them all.