I shall compose you a poem,
below your round, shining face,
for this is where I feel at home,
a pen within my warm embrace.
Underneath this moon of red,
my soul begins to dance and sing,
I awaken my spirits, once dead,
at this midnight hour of spring.
Red moon born from an eclipse,
no better time to work my spell,
your hue mimics my crimson lips,
Just watch me break out of my shell.
Dave Wood's contest - "Red Moon"