Something Out Of Nothing Poem by Piccola Topo Gigio

When all I hear is the frog's croaking,
All I see, the shadow's hoaxing,
The wind's quiet, and the sky's breath's silent,
Colors fading, whilst thunder makes its advent.

The weight of a torrent, hanging on my shoulder,
As I feel sleepy, tired, from this turnover,
When the slightest sign of air, caresses my hair,
I close my eyes, and drift away without a care.

Escaping for a moment, time stands still.
I hear noises, from a neighboring hill.
Laying there, in the tepidness of night.
I wait for magic, to come into sight.