Night,
under a moonless
cloudy sky
is void of
compassion,
indifferent to the
shadows of youth
and the old
praying for another
morning
night crawls boldly
capturing the weak
and fearful
sounds increase
from unknown
spaces
branches become
witches hands,
falling leaves
swooping bats,
vines
spider webs,
the beauty
of day
becomes
evil with night
Roger Singer 