I am drowning in my tears
on a strange night as the moon watches.
Voices, still no one can hear,
hollering woes as the wind catches.
Sympathy bursts with misery
when the prized departs and peters out.
I croon the song with downfall melody,
as I hail to the loved, begging ‘bout.
My moon is clothed with murky billows,
can be seen by a hair's breadth.
It rests upon the thorn-puffed pillows
that cut her hair into its shortest length.
Oh, dear moon- the night’s enchantress,
heed my plea: in my arms, rest.