The water sits placid without any gesture,

the night stands cold, the air thin and parched. 

Trees and grass all around him wimp with only a glimpse of life left,

but the moon danced in the dark, living its finest life. 

He doesn’t like to make much noise around this time of night, 

but the crickets howl his name in a beautiful rhythm. 

He sways back at forth within his twindled hammock, a smile bonded between his cheeks,

Eventually, the crickets stop screaming. The swaying of the hammock comes to an end. And as  for the man in the shadow, his moon stopped dancing.