Good night.
When the dream came to the fields,
The forest gave him a small tune,
Where the wind roared in the branches of trees
And he played a small to sleep.
Quietly, on your fingers,
Like a dancer on stage,
The wind was playing tricks
the grass and cast its shadows
For the road.
There, in the moonlight,
The leaves of the wheelbarrow did a playful job.
I can't deny it — it was rather nice.
Good night.
