By the night

Night is coming. In sleepy attire
The forest is silent, not noisy at all.
The sun and the wind: disappeared, and okay.
Serene silence modestly reigns.

The air is filled with the smell of hay:
herbs, mint, rotten stubble.
Selena rises sadly over the forest,
shines and beckons you to follow you.

As if deliberately hanging over the road,
illuminating the path in the thickening darkness.
I would rather reach the threshold,
and fall into a sweet sleep.