Night touches the sky,
Runs its trailing fingers along the edges of the clouds,
In the gaps between the stars; the half-ripe moon
Brings forth her soft glow, curling mist
Around her toes and brushing her lamp-light against
The trailing trees;
A silence slowly falls upon the earth,
In the gap between the evening and the darkness,
It settles like snow, a grey and temporary sphere
That lingers on, under heaven
And the stars.
A Teacup Full of Stories 