Silver lily of the pond,
drunk with the wine of moonshine,
went to sleep, with a smile on her face
still dreaming moon's embrace.

The breeze that tickled leaves,
made them laugh, without control
now whispers, hush hush,
A lovelorn cloud with her transparent lace,
wipes the moon's misty face.

Down below, in an unseen corner,
concealing her doleful heart's desires,
a faint  shadow of the night light,
adoringly looks at the moon,
her beloved she silently desires.
*But this love, tragic and futile,
is not known even to the moon