I watch the shifting shadows rise with dread,
And ponder as the moths dart to and fro,
Why night must always rear its heartless head,
And let the sun retreat, a vanquished foe.
The setting sun has perished in the vale,
While tree frogs sing the serenade of night.
Beneath a rising moon, a breathless pale,
The shadows weigh me down with no respite.
But even so, my heart shall always try;
For with the dying sun a promise lives,
That even though our hope today might die,
I soon shall feel the warmth a sunrise gives.
So whether this be true or vengeful lie,
With baited breath, I watch the eastern sky.
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