My bed's against the wall, beneath the window's gleam,
On cold fall nights, I crack it, letting in the frosty stream.

In silence, I hear the night’s soft song,
Crickets and frogs singing all night long.
I imagine them under the moonlight, dancing,
If I listen closely, I would hear bat wings quietly flapping.

The distant rumble of cars, a gentle sound,
A soft, unspoken rhythm that seems to surround.
On clear nights, I would look up and spot a star or two,
Like a wish on the edge of dreams, shining through.

On those...