Ọnụọgụgụ ụda

Bakhtiyar and the World That Went to Bed The day was done. The light turned gold. The world grew soft as the day grew old. From meadow floor to far-off hill. Everything was growing still. The sun gave one great, sleepy yawn, then slipped below the hill... and gone. The last warm light slipped through a cloud, then dipped away without a sound. The sky blushed pink, then purple, then gray. The sun had tucked itself away. And there was Bakhtiyar, up on the hill. "Goodnight, sun!" Bakhtiyar called,