Night creeps unbidden on the horizon,
The sun has slipped out of view,
The stars appear slowly on waking,
The sky takes on an inky hue.
The crickets strike up an orchestra,
Their legs the bow that glides across the strings,
The wind whispers softly into the treetops,
The sweet song of the night it sings.
The rain falls quickly in the dark,
Each drop a short and sudden note,
Distant thunder creates the beat,
The song lifts from midnight's throat.
The frogs begin their raucous choir,
Joining in on the nighttime fling,
The trees bend low as the wind rises,
To this night they wish to cling.
But all too soon the song begins to quiet,
The voices dropping out one by one,
The sun casts golden rays to chase away the stars,
And at least for now, night's song is done.