I speak to the moon
in the dead of night.
I come to her
when her light is bright.
I confess my secrets,
beneath the starlight,
and pray there is not
another soul in sight.
I dance with her sprites,
around the firelight,
and listen carefully,
as she recites her rites.
I give her my secrets,
and she ties them up tight,
hanging them high,
like a stalactites,
that shimmer
like the northern lights.
In return she incites,
that we unite each night,
so she can hear me recite,
my love for her,
beneath her loving light.
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 6:57 PM UTC
I speak to the moon
in the dead of night.
I come to her
when her light is bright.
I confess my secrets,
beneath the starlight,
and pray there is not
another soul in sight.
I dance with her sprites,
around the firelight,
and listen carefully,
as she recites her rites.
I give her my secrets,
and she ties them up tight,
hanging them high,
like a stalactites,
that shimmer
like the northern lights.
In return she incites,
that we unite each night,
so she can hear me recite,
my love for her,
beneath her loving light.
