Poetry- Night Garden

The day is done,
the birds have stilled their song.
The moon rises o'er the waters,
studded with the stars of bygone years.
Up above the hum of an airplane heard
off to some foreign place, where no one knows our night.
The sun but a dim memory, the brook gurgles,
seemingly louder than all the crickets in the fields below.
What is this place, so different, so dark, so peaceful?
A shadow emerges and offers a gentle hand.
"Hello, I am the night."