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.