Speak not your pain into the night
Where the air will store them high
To the smiling face of the sky calabash
On a fainty sky, painted ash.

For;
When the moon shall again grow
At dark, with your painted pain that show;
On her face mirroring ugly
Shall she returned back your pain wryly.

But,
Say your wish of brighter days ahead
On the twinkling face, on the moon's head
And when her twinkling shall again re-appear
Your wish shall return brightened like a sharpened war spear.