Less than most, I hold her close for I am not immune.
Infectious is her splendor, timeless her surrender, lovely is her presence, to bask in rays of pleasance.
Softly drifting in midnight's sky, she-no doubt, meets watchful eye.
Delightful is this silver wonder, to gaze at her turns hearts to thunder.
Precious mother of stone and water here, on earth, I am your daughter.
In days I wither to see your face, to hold and feel your cold embrace.
Oh mother moon why must you go? Why can't our time be less than slow?
For tears are shed at your depart, painful shatter - lovers heart.
Until we meet at days last breath, I slumber most but wake in death.
For when your darkness harkens me, from death, I walk to be with thee.