Over the line of the eastern horizon

A pale, lovelorn moon appears.

Lifting herself towards the stars in the sky—

Her light, not her own, for she mirrors.

Mother Darkness drapes her ethereal cloak

Over the warm light of day

Extinguishing the flame like a candle snuffed out

Its light quickly fading away.

The silent dream-monger—that slippery fellow—

Drifts like a phantom about

Dropping his dreams from a sack on his shoulder

Dreams full of longing, or doubt.

A ghostly night bird, alone on his perch,

Whistles a soft lullaby

While the owl, hidden from all mortal eyes,

Utters a deep, lonely sigh.

While day has its bustle, a charm all his own,

A warmth that comes with his light,

Day is not all that a body can live on—

A body can't live without Night.

A/N: No, I'm not Emo.