| Bm | E | Bm | E |
| Bm | A | Bm | |
| In the hour of | not quite | rain |
| G | D | |
| When the | fog was finger tip | high |
| Bm | E | Bm | E | Bm | E | D | |
| The | moon | hung su | spende | d in a | singular | sky |
| Bm | E | Bm | E | Bm | G | C | F | /E | /D |
| F#m | Bm | |
| Deeply and be | yond seeing, |
| F#m | Bm | |
| Not wishing to in | trude |
| E | F#m | Bm | |
| Bathed in its | own re | flection |
| A | Bm | E | Bm | E | |
| The water mirrored the | moon |
| The tumbling birds have now sobered |
| From the leaves of their nursery |
| Like shadowy, quiet children watching sleeply |
| by: José Duarte |
| jtduarte1@gmail.com |