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,