“’Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!” – Dracula
When sunset’s fire fades to deepest dark,
Midnight’s children scatter through the sky,
A mantle woven from the primal spark,
For this, each day, the sun’s fate is to die.
Music of the stars, song of the lark,
Work their magic, dreams spread wings and fly.
I walk the paths of day and skim the night,
On swallow’s wings into the birth of light.