My Moon

On a darkened night, in the fragrant breeze,
with a hardened heart and a weaken soul,
was i wreathing alone, longing for a moon,
that the darkest cloud had held in tight.

My throat was dried and cried to damp,
i kneeled on side of a slithering stream,
above my head the cloud had moved,
and my moon did smile in the mirroring stream.

But my hands had moved for the withering throat,
and broke my mirror for the quench of thirst
my heart wept high at the sight of that
and my moon did cry in the rustle of stream
and shied inside the darkest cloud
for her smile had lost for the quench of thirst.

My eyes made a mirror for the stream to see
and i scooped it hand ful to make a pool,
i forgo my thirst and stood still there
to let her come again smiling in my pool.