Something about this poem made me think of warm summer nights and velvet moons:

A Boy, A Lake, A Sun

My little boy, the vast, still lake,
And the big low sun
Keep each other company
Now the day is done.

The child is quiet, and his curls
Are full of evening light,
He sits in utter confidence
On the edge of night.

A little golden bubble cast
Up from eternity,
The sun is just as much his friend
As the evening bee.

He does not know he is small
Or different or apart,
The sun is not a grander thing
Than a daisy’s heart.

But he is pleased to have me come
And moves to let me sit
Beside him and the setting sun,
And I am proud of it.

Robert P. Tristram Coffin