The woods

The woods were dark, the trees asleep,
roses rest in the night and the willow at its weep
silence fell upon the ground, broken only by a brook,
with a bubbling babbling sound, in a dark and shadowed nook

the dawn  rises the hours have passed,
familiar noises are heard at last
a bird sings a ribbit hops
the roses bloom fresh from the night
and time it never stops.