Night's stillness doth bring forward mankind's faults
showed in the sound of rushing cars below
The street lamps' yellow lights the starshine halts,
but still, the crickets' medleys never slow.
I sit here in a room of stone and wood
I hate its murky air and lack of sky—
and yet, I slumber inside, like I "should".
(I'd rather watch the satellites glide by.)
The person who invented the indoors
Can take it back, as far as I'm concerned.
I love the stars much more than cars or floors,
the crickets more than any cash I've earned.
From trees to birds to flowers through the fields,
I love our Earth more than what humans yield.