Alas, not ask for the well-being of the night.

None ask nor care.

For they fear the dark, the unknown, the void.

Unloved. Despised.

Yet, cometh the night.

They praise the light.

As a time of revelry.

But withdraw from the obsidian shroud.

As a time of danger.

Yet, cometh the night.

Mere day does not compare.

For is it not the night that makes the day?

What is eternal day without rest,

Without the sleep of the sky?

A sun that burns infinitely,

Until it too, dies.

The night works in the shadows.

Dutifully, despite the day.

In spite of the day.

So it may always be,

So cometh the night.