Moonlight washes shadow across my walls,
Quiet noises echo from empty halls,
Wintry voices cry out, to my heart it calls:
The loneliness of the moon.
Alone in the Arc, she rises each night,
Gently glowing out her thin wispy light,
Stunning sentry adorned in plain wedding white,
The beauty of the moon.
One night to shine out, with loveliness bold,
To grace the dark sky with light pale and cold,
The mortals of earth do not dare withhold
The waxing of the moon.
Her crescent hangs thin in the dark,
The edges of it against the night - stark,
Gently dying, the peoples hark,
To the waning of the moon.
The moon is gone, her face is dead,
Darkness is all left in her stead,
Where has she gone? Has she fled?
The eclipse of the moon.
Slowly she peeks round her shadowy cover,
Unfurling gently, her shape to discover,
The night a pit without its mother,
The return of the moon.
*
Without a light to guide our theme,
From the corners of our mind she'll gleam,
A matriarch of a glorious regime,
The Moon.
