Night light is streaming through to fall,
In patterns on the ceiling of my wind intruded hall.
Streaks and webs and polka dots of light on the wall,
But if its not the moon, then why shine at all?
Clouds of smog and smoke may shroud our shiny ball,
But the street lamps and car headlights beckon and call.
Light pierces the dense darkness of the wind intruded hall,
No, it’s not the moon, yet the night lights brighten up my room and all.