When I wait under the old mango tree
I count the glittering stars far away
And lying on soft sandy soil
I get a better glimpse of the dark skies.
The wind is my guest,
She rents her cold self to me.
She whispers tunes of nature
And drags tree leaves to fan me.
It’s an evening of quietness and cold,
Moments of thought wandering,
Of travel through stories and time.
Now the cold night draws nearer,
I will watch my beautiful stars glitter.