When the sun’s work is over, she quietly leaves,
Like the cuckoo who visits in spring,
Though, touching the corner of my nearby world,
The colours of sunset still cling.
Gold kisses the clouds with a farewell embrace,
And mist touches far distant hills.
For a moment there seems a strange hush in our world,
Then this quietness is gradually filled.
From somewhere nearby comes the call of the owl
Whose awakening has barely begun.
Whilst his busy life is about to begin,
The day for we humans is done.
The moon gently rises, high in the night sky,
In her kingdom of black solitude,
And the stars in their millions shyly appear
Where nothing can brashly intrude.
The sun, as we know, carries lightness and heat
To those people in lands far away,
And they, like good hosts, will be welcoming her
At the start of another new day.
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