The Hour of Not Quite Rain Buffalo Springfield

[Verse 1]
In the hour of not quite rain
When the fog was fingertip high
The moon hung suspended
In a singular sky

[Bridge]
Deeply and beyond seeing
Not wishing to intrude
Bathed in its own reflection
The water mirrored the moon

[Verse 2]
The tumbling birds have now sobered
From the leaves of their nursery
Like shadowy, quiet children
Watching sleepily