Day of Night

Every time I sit at a tree I think about what they said, like foxes dancing in the light of the moon.
Moaning in the night they would sing about the day of night, where we would paint the ocean a new shade of blue. 
With a bit of green and a bit of light because 'tis the day of night and every step I take I feel the history of this place.
The birds above me fly through the air like hot knives through butter.
They are no longer moaning about the day of night but the midnight breeze brings doubt.
Still the trees sing in unison of the day of night.
"Tis the day of night and every step we take we feel the history of this place".