How I adore the
poetic verses of the moon.
Not the sun,
Not the stars,
but only my moon.

From a balcony of clouds
above me, the moon whispers
and throws a star.
Ah, but the moon shines as twice
as bright as the star it throws.

I would fly to heaven
just to be with my moon,
Where the silver beams
would color my hair white.

Oh, what a poem would I write
if I could make the moon
Mine, all mine ...