Goodnight, my sweetheart.

Goodnight my sweetheart. 
The bird says to the toad. 
The moon came looking,
for the cloud of dreams,
who rains on houses,
while those who are asleep. 
Monet was it,
Or Van Gough who whispered,
lost in words,
instead they painted their ode,
to the ones who wander,
within a different interstellar.