That magical time when the last jewels of light appear on the horizon,
Like dewdrops in the morning sun.
So peaceful, so serene, so calm.
A bird calls, as if singing to the lost light of day,
Guiding those who’ve yet to really find their way back home.
I feel that moment coming,
When time slips by, and day turns to night.
And in that moment you know
The evening is gone.
To the winds of time, or the songs of fate,
Perchance it will come again,
Those drops of dew on the horizon.
But the night is calling, with its voice as soft as the falling rain.
It is calling.
I must come.