Afternoons, curse them all
Make me feel silly, make me feel small.
Not much to do, a waiting phase
A rustic time ,a silent gaze.

Morning goes so soon, and then its come
Expressionless, motionless, troublesome.
Neither the energy of morn, nor the beauty of eve
Nothing to feel, no emotion to perceive.

Why on earth it has to be?
Lets figure it out, let us see
A Transition and it must be for light to pass
And a world of darkness waiting to encompass.

A signal of coming dusk, a time of recluse
A signal of excuse, a signal to amuse.
At last time to rest, and recollect the best.
To be happy and ideas beautiful to nest.