In the sky

I'm just calling for the moon. The untranslatable, untouchable, ancient moon. Mother of us all, singing her songs of white, her poems of light, sawing the love in simple people's hearts, cropping the poets, two or three lives beyond.

Oh white light,
bright and full of mysteries,
bring us the sight of a new era,
the delight of Clara
your daughter, your land of Tara

Oh, raise her to the sky
I swear stop asking why
down in fascination for
Her breath
Her shine
Her love entire

Sending my love poems
Wishing all the joy
for the one of the heart of mine

It's really for you. Always will be.