The moon gently wraps the dark sky
with its light, flooded through clouds of white
If this frame of perfectness ain’t deserve a loud
If this goodnight song is not a tale of times
I confess I never saw such beauty in a night
Orion abates his sword and lays it on my shoulder
Am I worthy of a crown, me, a simple loner
Being witness of nature’s wonder is pride enough to me
The wrists of wind run beyond my jowl
I can barely move, though
Never take that sight from my eye
I adore, I long, in high regard I dandle to and fro
I need to know How can this be?
Has someone painted a tableau of those then
Who made him pick the pieces in order
And place them properly?
A master of art it must be, a subtle player
Ah, I am enamored by an invisible twine
A composition branded in my mind
A spirit embedded in a dream
And a rootless anchored in a rushing gleam
May it rush, unbound
A glorious composition we let it be
I return to the ground