Night, driven conscience of identity,
you see me more likely than I do you.
Night, serene path of inner peace
and peripheral talks,
you feel me more than I do you.
Pawned thoughts ranked far and far,
flying back to nest,
not short than cuckoo’s dashing back.
Dressed happiness, adored calmness,
wondered mysteries, all and all
swaying round around me,
to settle for a sleep of great sound.
Remorse lively flushed,
weariness sly-stressed falling on me,
pushing for settlement.
Breaths shed to blossom life is,
of menacing thoughts like you;
burdens me with thoughts of
the still flow of you,
and of thanks-giving.
Night, I see you.
For all I gave for burning sun,
and blushing flowers, and blooming earth,
you gave me back today’s life.