Somewhere in the dark trees
    small birds sing their pre-dawn songs
    bathed in private moonbeams.
O little ones, why do you not give yourselves
    up to sleep?
Whom do you glorify in the stillness of night
    when neither food nor activity
    press upon you?
To Whom do you sing your ecstatic ballads
    and why such delicate notes,
    such plaintive tunes?
Have you a tryst with the Invisible?
Some unseen Hand has woken me at this hour.
If I should wait here in a pool of moonlight,
    singing in my innermost heart,
    shall I see Him too?

– Vidagdha Bennett.


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