she turns her glance, through dark midnight, in all her jewelled finery and shines her coy demeanor bronzed with a timeless mystery, above the forest reaching high for her touch and grace the clouds themselves cannot diguise the beauty of her face.
the old world creatures are hunted by this moon hung behind a bloody sky then as now under it’s mirror is still heard the deathly cries of those souls that fear the nights when bejewelled by her face for the dark offers them haven in all its secret places.
there is nought within the moon
that itself should flavour love
but those passions we imbue above
at the times we both commune
and in such meetings are we immune
to desires it’s beams speak thereof
the silvered light of the beloved
music of the spheres, the tune
which cause our hearts a merry dance
weightless as our sister’s face
and for the future’s blessed chance
that we should glory in the grace
of love’s devout eternity
in her sea of pure tranquility