As the sun sets over the horizon,
As the birds fly back to their trees and nests,
There is a silence that falls over the cities.
While people relax and rest in their chairs,
They calm their minds and leave their cares.
The pages of the night are written every time,
As the writer writes and the poet rhymes.
As the day dies to give birth to the night,
There is a magic with spells in the cool air.
The actions of the day silently disappear.
The dreams of billions write their stories,
In the night sky as stars hover the spindly trees.
Every page tells us the story of humanity,
Written into the fabric of the cosmos.
Every deed and every thought is lettered in gold,
Every historical detail is warm and not cold.
At the dawn of humanity the pages of the night,
Were created by the hand and in human sight.
The pages of the night are written under every Moon,
That shines its illuminated pages in rhythmic tune.