When the sun goes to sleep,
and the sky wears its purple gown,
the world sighs softly,
as shadows stretch, yawning across the ground.

The stars blink awake in a hush,
whispers of silver in the cool night air,
secrets held in the quiet breath,
of a day that’s gone, but lingers there.

The moon begins its gentle climb,
painting the sky in shades of dreams,
where time forgets to rush or race,
and everything slows down, it seems.

In the stillness, there’s a story,
told without words or sound,
of hearts beating softly in sync,
with the rhythm of the night’s unwound.

When the sun goes to sleep,
the world stirs in quiet glow,
and in the stillness we drift away,
caught in the magic of the world below.