The sky is radiant with purples and pinks,
And the sun is on its brink
Birds coo and fly back to their nest,
While harmony and silence hold a fest.
The shops close and houses are locked,
And all the boats and ships are dry-docked,
But it’s time for a joyful soul to sneak out into the unknown,
Tiptoeing to the grassy hill is little Joan!
And on the huge swing, she rocked.
During the day she was restrained,
She asked for freedom but in vain,
But, every night she was carefree on the hill,
A mistress of her own will.
Alas! Once the moon disappeared, her mirth also vanished,
In the morning, her freedom was banished.
Every night she would want someone to fulfil,
The wish that she had spent asking in goodwill,
Was to be the mistress of her will…
