A whisper of jade, the night descends,
Upon the eastern sky, it lends
A blush, a stain, a crimson hue,
The moon, a pearl, reborn anew.

Not silver bright, but painted red,
As if the heavens themselves had bled.
A carp leaps high, to touch its face,
And finds within, a lonely space.

Chang'e's cold palace, crystal bright,
Reflects the sanguine, eerie light.
No rabbit grinds the jade elixir there,
But shadows dance, and chilling air.

The willow weeps, a spectral green,
Where once a lovers' tryst was seen.
Now only ghosts, with sighs so deep,
Their mournful vigil softly keep.

The Weaver Girl, her loom unbound,
No longer weaves, on sacred ground.
The Milky Way, a river wide,
Keeps her from her love's embrace, denied.

The Magpies fly, a restless flock,
Their cries unheard, upon the rock
Where once they formed a bridge so grand,
Now scattered far, across the land.

The Dragon King, in slumber deep,
Dreams of the pearls, the oceans keep.
He stirs, and clouds begin to swirl,
A crimson tide, the world to whirl.

The Fox spirit, with eyes so sly,
Watches the moon, as moments fly.
She dreams of power, beauty's grace,
And human hearts, she longs to chase.

The Mountain spirits, old and wise,
Observe the scene, with knowing eyes.
They've seen the moon in shades of white,
And crimson red, in darkest night.

They've seen the rise and fall of kings,
The joys and sorrows, time it brings.
They've seen the love that knows no end,
And broken hearts, that cannot mend.

The Crimson Moon, a silent guide,
Across the heavens, it does ride.
A witness to the tales untold,
Of heroes brave, and spirits bold.

The wind it sighs, a mournful tune,
Beneath the gaze of Crimson Moon.
A lonely beauty, stark and grand,
Across this mystical, ancient land.

The stars they dim, before its might,
Lost in the crimson, eerie light.
A painted scroll, across the sky,
Where legends live, and stories lie.

The moon hangs heavy, low and red,
As if the very heavens bled.
A potent symbol, dark and deep,
While mortals dream, and secrets sleep.

The night grows old, the moon descends,
Its crimson glow, at last, it lends
To dawn's embrace, a fading hue,
Until it rises, once anew.

And in its light, we see again,
The magic, myth, and lore of men.
The Crimson Moon, a timeless tale,
Of love and loss, that will not fail.