Where does Sun’s light touch the distant horizon; a place of peace and faith
Where then does Moon’s face shine, when she still hides other side in shame
Was it a battle lost, and a war won; but for poor Moon to live forever shunned
To that damned Sun--! and his searing rays, to ignore the cry of his eternal opposing one?
Cry she--! Cry she--! Her tears have created a map of the sky, to sail the lost sailor home
Woe to her, the fragile Moon, that no one could see her heart
For if they did, than an endless friend, would they have their whole life long
Cowardice Sun--! Atrocious Sun--! Could you not hang up your fearsome gleams?
And pray to thee, a now cursed fate, for thee could see not past his pride--!
For what hath the Moon done to deserve; a life of sorrow and woe
What then could she ask, for but a friend, to her desolate side now last
Cry not, Sweet Moon; Poor Gentle Moon, your time is but nearing soon
Your faint soft glimmers, in the night shimmer, and hear from below as they all sigh
Your endless stars; formed by your river of tears, have grasp the eyes filled in wonder
You shall brightly shine, in a midnight glow; for this is but your right
Still be your tongue—O dastardly Sun—your reign of the sky now wavers
For though your light did warm, it could only burn; and the Moon’s is but a soft murmur
But though Moon shall reign, on a distant path of a far array, to plead silently with Fate’s design
She still will stay; her face turned away, and we never to see her other side.