Night yields fragile blossoms

That hold strong come dawn.

It kisses the grass with dew

And leaves footprints on the lawn.

She cares for her gardens,

For her glossy lakes and streams,

She touches them, she loves them,

And allows the sun to intervene.

This saddens her somehow

Because he can give what she cannot.

Still she maintains a sweet face

And does her best with what she's got.