The Early Spring Sings To the Moon

It's after midnight,and I walk unhurriedly on a well-lit road flanked by orchids; a casual squirrel crosses fearfully as I listen to the soft sounds of crickets, turning repeatedly to both sides so curious to know where they hide... The early spring sings to the moon, a spotted face looking solemnly happy while the friendly stars smile on: to hear the whispers they exchange sweetly; and before the nightgales retrieve at dawn in rosy tree tops, they'll be gone... I spot patches of dark blue, like the lake below,peaking through the huge branches of oaks and pine trees; the soft moon's gleams paint them in silver, and how lovely they seem in that glimmer, enough to give them the sembiance of a magical forest within a sweltering city in need of a cool breeze, capable of bringing relief from the hazy mist... The early springs sings to the moon, the merry notes float on the scented breeze to reach a distance I cannot achieve; my contemplation will end soon... I go past the yellow and purple daffodils; are they ever tired of standing on their stems, of giving their pollen to the eager butterflies? What a joy and beauty they'll take away from us! The early spring sings to the new moon, I am a vagrant in this nature's wondrous spectacle; like life going through short days: bright or dull, I passing through to live and die soon...