They say the Earth is ruled by gods almighty and strong,
But at this point I say theology has gone utterly wrong.
Divinity may be the flowers blooming in the month of June,
Or, as I prefer it, the gentle shining of the moon.
You sing to me with mournful ease
And bathe me in your light,
Pouring forth your ethereal affection
Into our silent world as you please.
I cannot see much of the night
When you, eternal friend, do dare protect us.

The wind and rain do have their charms,
And sunlight does not much of harm,
But there is nothing more of pure delight
Than to bathe within the pale moonlight.
Your appeal is as the most lovely flower in a garden,
Outshining all the rest
Who attempt to mock your grace;
Yet, you have never dared to harden
Your heart to all who can’t be best,
Of pride not showing but a trace.

In the immaturity of childhood I feared your stable glance,
The power of your presence setting the world into a trance.
But this fear, I see, was nothing more than grave misunderstanding
Of a natural devotion your awareness keeps demanding.
Demanding, not in the sense of warning punishment,
But rather in allowing respect to come with nature’s gifts;
Allowing us to perceive what we see not in ourselves alone.
Adherence out of worry is nearly obsolescent-
A fact the world seems to drive us boldly to admit;
For beauty overpowers power standing on its own.