Wind, dead still, and unnatural light,
Set the stage, for their mistress – Night;
Her power, her charm, abound it seems,
But truly her heart, fears Dawn’s gleam.
But long it is, for his turn to come,
The world is asleep, its people numb;
She walks, then stops, then runs apace,
For this time is hers, she owns the place.
PC:Image by PublicDomainPictures from Pixabay