Reflected over water,
Opens the grey and blue, puffy veil
Hiding it from my eyes.
The night is young, tender
Even, like a baby, so fresh
That dreams have not yet
Come out to play.
An evening bird sings
To the fireflies turning
Meadows into skies.
And the moon cascades
Itself down, into a milky haze,
Silvering the shadows,
Painting them the colour of fays.
There’s a stillness
In this night pregnant with life.
A hesitation, a pause,
A longing, cool and soft like a breeze.
Soon more insects will sing,
Foxes will trot, owls will hoot,
The iridescent clouds will hide the disc of light.
And the night will be heavy and dark.
It will be the spooky time,
When fairies hide and demons dance.
But that hour has not yet come.
And I lay back and let the smooth wind
Caress me, as a lover, under
The soft moonlight, as I enjoy
This water coloured night and hum
A half-forgotten lullaby.