Bewitched By a Sailor's Moon

Disperse the sun’s most wicked rays. Exhale the vapor of the light. Fill the soft fringe with halo fine. Dampen the blackness of the night Stain pink as if the weakest blood has washed upon cobalt the skies, cry out in fear for at the dawn a cresting wave will sailor’s ride. Belay, belay, the storm’s intent. The rage incased with morbid fright. Assuage the rampant fretting sun “Ah, give me fair soft candle light.” For in the morn there comes a gale and pon a widow’s walk I’ll wail.