l The moon has a song she sings,
a melody
that drifts across the night.
In flight
she flees
the lover scorned,
the trees shadows and the seas mirrors.
She laughs.
Such a laugh
would make angels weep
in joy to hear.
She woops, she woos, she hollers.
She rides night’s winds.
She flies.
She unties.
She dies .(goes down)
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