When the night is in its infancy,
When I see the last tinges of orange and pink,
Before the sky fades into oblivion,
To rise again, with the new rays of dawn.
When dusk chooses to set in,
And chirps flow in from the nests on top,
When the northern star shines in solitude,
To signal the Milky Way and what’s beyond.
A favourite little lamp lights up another aura,
To fill my world with the light I wait to see,
It sheds its warmth on the petals and hues,
That mornings bring forth, all fresh and new.
Its glow, seeping through the craftsmanship,
Tells me that it’s only the light within,
That can make us see the many shades,
Of what one may become, or can be.
I look at the shadows cast on the wall,
They make me think of those lunar spots,
And how beautiful the moon can be,
Even with the reflected glory of the orb.
Aren’t we like lamps that shine when its time?
To draw upon what’s within, to live or fight.
Our colours burst forth when life kisses its dusk,
To mature and relive with hope and see a new dawn.