(A/N: Luna is the Roman Goddess who personifies the Moon.)
The sweet wind blows, gracing the grass,
Silver ringlets above, as frail as glass,
The sky burns itself with black charcoal,
With passion and love, it singes my soul.
And then from the lonely corner of the hill,
A note whistles, it starts to get shrill,
The silhouette shapes into feminine charm,
As Luna brings the lyre, and plays the psalm.
Her saccharine tunes excite the stars,
They constellate, spilling their light afar,
It rouses the lordly wolves from their sleep,
On the edge of the cliff, they howl and weep.
The crying of the baby next door subsides,
As the dulcet euphony calmly resides,
It forms the notes of a placid lullaby,
Playing in his ears, it mutters a sigh.
Her deep-voiced song of rushing cadences,
Sparks the waters with bright luminescence,
Robed in a gown of hydrated gold,
Its ripples are pleated with delicate folds.
In perfect harmony, she plucks the strings,
In nocturnal bliss, the night sky sings,
Nature's endowed with her magical gifts,
To a utopian world, the earth seems to drift.
Yours poetically,
The Literary Artisan 💖
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