The cuckoo calls in the morn
come out and play
a delight of dawn
little light on the way.
The night is there
darkness a tinge light
the sun is found there
peers through the sky in slight.
The day and night are on sight
grey and pale yellow in hue
the ambience is of a peaceful wait
the interior still looms in blue.
The peculiar union is not strange
there blows the wind with pleasure
the celestial symphony excels in a range
as men slumber still in leisure