Evening Whispers

In the quiet span of evening,

When the moon’s about to rise,

I sometimes think I hear the whisper

Of the fairies' tempting lies.

Just little whispers of the pleasures

Only they can bring to me,

Like dancing on the frothy waters

Of the dark’ning moonlit sea;

Or sipping nectar from the blossoms

Growing down below the stream

Where the frogs and crickets murmur

In their sleepy starlight dream.

Bright founts of starlight splash the grasses

Where they dance without a trace;

Weaving seductively through shadows

Long enthralled by their embrace.

Oh how I long to heed their whispers,

Join them where the moonlight sways;

Dancing, lost in light ethereal,

Where the restless streamlet plays.

But I am not formed out of moonlight,

I can’t dance the starlight sea,

And all the dreaming frogs and crickets,

Never will they dream of me.

For I am bound to live in daylight,

Toiling neath the glaring sun,

And only listening for whispers

Just as moonrise has begun.