My Lady Moon, she treads so soft
like webs of dreams gone by.
She sails in blue, a gown of blue
as hushed as Heart’s last sigh.
She turns her face, so strange, so fair
an opal in the dark
with eyes as chilled as Arctic waves;
her face, let mortals mark.
Aloft, she lives with Night, the one
that she has named her friend
The wolves, they howl till they find her
and may they then, cease, end?
Comments
This is a really beautiful
This is a really beautiful poem. I love how you described the moon and the whole part about the wolves.
See him with his books:
Tree beside the brooks,
Drinking at the root
Till the branch bear fruit.
See him with his pen:
Written line, and then,
Better thought preferred,
Deep from in the Word.
~John Piper
I've come across a lot of
I've come across a lot of stories about the moon lately. The line about wolves in this one puzzled me (in a good way)...
I have hated the words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right. --The Book Thief