Dusk, the end of day, the soften bed of moonlight,
brings wild thoughts within its sultry shadows musing.
Belle Lune, fair damsel, bringing love and fright,
release my tongue-tied self, please allow my crooning.
Troubadours have strung the onyx sky with comet
tails glittering white, and bowed each string to unite
the pensive poet's heart and that of his fair coquette;
see them sway, a dance displayed amour in the moonlight.
Shadows deepen, have they left, thought hard, grown contrite
or has the moon, amused, drawn shadows 'round as gowns?
Will he rise at dawn, curtains drawn, write of the night?
The maid, the moon, the well so deep, the heat profound
calls to him in memory, now cooled by harsh light.
For now, there is, but the empty page of daylight.