The Night's Gentle Hand

The day was loud and bright and long,

Filled with a busy, hurried song.

But now the sun has gone to rest,

And night does what she does the best.

She takes her brush of deepest blue,

And paints the world entirely new.

She sprinkles salt across the sky,

And hangs a lazy moon on high.

She tells the wind to lower its voice,

And gives the weary world a choice.

To close its eyes and drift and dream,

Beside a soft, meandering stream.

The frantic colors fade away,

To muted shades of silver-grey.

The sharp-edged shadows blur and blend,

As night becomes a tender friend.

She doesn't steal the day's delight,

She simply tucks it in at night.

She mends the frayed and tired soul,

And helps the broken pieces feel whole.

So do not fear the dark, my dear,

For magic is especially near.

It's in the cricket's lullaby,

That plays beneath the starry sky.

The night's not empty, cold, or deep,

It's just the world, gone back to sleep.

And in its quiet, you can find,

The peaceful corners of your mind.