I know she's there

'cause she's 

sending me

her glowing aura

embracing my heart

so tenderly

so tightly

like a mother's hug

though we're

billions and billions

of miles

away.

The belle of night

has risen

attired in

a diamond-studded frock

and dainty satin shoes

that chase one another

playfully

like frivolous

fawns.

Her eyes sparkles

her glossed lips twinkles

as she dances

as she twirls

like a graceful ballerina

in the silver spotlight

in the play 

of night.

Last night

she was here

and tonight

she does appear

dramatically

through black

velvet curtains

smothering 

the sky.

Tomorrow,

I believe,

she will still

keep her promise

for dancing

is her career

evermore.

Deep in the past,

those cavemen

had seen her

and recorded

her beauty

in their

humble paintings.

Up to this day,

countless poets,

artists

and writers

have appreciated

her grace,

evincing the

phenomenon

in their notebooks

desperately 

for the posterity

who keep caging 

themselves

in grim prisons

of the society,

who are not

able 

to see

and feel

the miracles

of nature.

The belle of night

and her friends

had given birth

to astronomy

seducing 

curious scientists

by their

mystic quality.

If there were

no stars,

nightime

would be like  

a play without 

performers.