Lullaby

A solemn Lullaby guides the Weary from Illusions,
‘Tis a Song sung by a drifting Muse:
The City rests beneath the Crescent Moon.
There lurks a Stillness in the Midnight Air.

Sounds of the City have ceased, at long last.

Angels dance above the silky Streets;
Unheard, unseen — their Feet as light as Snow.
And as They dance, They play Their Instruments:
A Golden Tune, begotten Golden Silence.

Sounds of the City have ceased, at long last.

Whistling Wind runs through the Leaves which shudder,
While They whisper secrets to each other.
A single Leaf departs to find its Purpose,
To find Its Fate along the Water’s Surface.

Sounds of the City have ceased, at long last.

Goodnight, to the Weary, ascending unto Sacred Silence;
Goodnight, dear Angels, dancing through the night.
Goodnight, dear Leaves, that drift on Autumn Ponds —
Goodnight, my Muse, dear Crescent Moon, goodnight.

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