Standing dwelled within the moon,
Its shade do seldome take,
The twilight of the dusted stars
The space of greater wake.
Tides approach the atumn sand,
As hands will wash of sin.
The golden while to repimand,
The lesser evil win.
If fire should spread in stoney wash,
Then burn inside the earth,
A spoil of water in the fog,
The mist at very birth.
Let aside loves wisdom, in the lift,
Of moonlight as a moments gift.
Bestowed in every seasons will.
On sky or weep of of all thats still.