Written by: Andrew Crisci

He didn't shout them to the loud wind that made the fir trees wave and dance; 
he stood as a wolf on a rock of the shadowy hill...
seeking the moody moon hanging over the windmill! 
He wasn't sorry for phrases not spoken;
through the entire darkness, he passionately touched her with his manly hands 
and as she lay in his strong arms,
a big star fell and lit up her green eyes...
midnight wishes were made then!
Her unhappy soul emitting a breath so warm wanted
to feel the ecstasy and not be forsaken,  
and 'though she wasn't frightened by any sound: 
she longed for phrases not spoken!