Evening comes with long shadows, And smells of jasmine buds; Are those lights on the distant hills? Or only the first shimmering stars? The darkening woods resound With restless nest-bound birds; The wind blows, crickets chirp, And then there is silence.
The philosophers will tell you There’s nothing quite perfect. Contentment has a twin And you will suffer alone. But on clear starlit evenings Happiness speaks clearly To lonely souls who understand The language of silence.