Nature

Soft comes the hush of eventide,

And songbirds hide,

In limbs of budded trees,

To bid farewell to setting sun,

With lullabies they've sung,

Each night for centuries.

A lark is swinging swiftly home,

Black dot alone,

Beneath auroral clouds,

All nature makes a homeward rush,

As twilight's rosy blush,

The eyes of night arouse.