The Mafia Queen

The moon, a glow of golden sorrow, Cast its faint light upon her ethereal form, A vision of perfection, beckoning and forlorn; The pearly chariot, motionless, as if in mourning, Reflected not the lunar glow, nor the world's vain concern. 'Twas no mortal spectacle, this wondrous sight, That surpassed all earthly glory, and human plight; Those who bore witness to this heavenly display, Saw not the moon, nor mortal scene, nor heard the night's dark sway; They saw but the Fairy's mystic pageant, and heard The celestial harmonies that filled the deserted air. Her frame, a wispy tendril of misty blue, Ephemeral as the twilight's whispered hue; The morning star, that crowns the dawn's bright diadem, Shines not with such gentle, yet potent, beam; For from her form, a fiery halo burst, In undulating waves, as if the heart of love did thirst. From her shimmering car, the Fairy Queen descended, And thrice she waved her wand, adorned with amaranth's tender end; Her diaphanous form, a whisper of the breeze, Moved with an eerie grace, as love's sweet melancholy seized; And as she spoke, her silver tones, like tears of old, Fell softly on the heart, a gentle, haunting gold.