The moon is still bright, and high up in the sky,
Gloom and reluctance, in my mind, is truly not a lie;
Engulfed in the silence and the serenity of dawns,
At an hour, which can be deafened by quietest sound,
Whilst hearing to the loudest of the incessant yawns,
Lazily we tread down to the far away polo ground;
The morning birds are naught yet out of their nest,
But, we, in fear, do customarily, break from our rest...
