Pale Moon
A Song of Loss
A pale moon is falling,
The spirit of the lake is calling,
Silent clouds drift way above,
Is this the day I lose my love?
The dimming light of evening skies,
Beyond them lies the day’s reprise,
Blue mists touching far off hills,
The resting woodlands remaining still.
Gentle brooks slip through the shade,
While a deer rests in the glade.
The silent owl swoops overhead,
The Moonshines like a silver thread.
A wisp of fog lies upon the lake,
A gentle dance; we cannot partake.
First signs of dew on a spider’s web,
The new dawn lies just ahead.
The night begins its slow retreat,
The new day comes but is discrete.
The skyline lightens, new promise to keep.
A pale moon has fallen, quietly to sleep.
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