Evening has come and dusk is here,

the clouds are pink, and night is near,

as bulbuls and thrushes, I now hear.

On the ground near trees so fair,

thrushes dance and jump in the air,

as darkness comes, they leave, pair by pair.

Further along I see an insect nesting site,

a coucal squats and eats up every termite,

that flies out, oblivious to its future plight.

A green carpet covers the soil,

a place where the birds do toil,

and sing in beautiful turmoil.

Then the bushes grow still,

and the thrushes, haven eaten their fill,

retreat, to tree, bush or hill.

And as night falls,

the air cools,

and stars show like jewels.

March 2020