Lady in the Moon

Sweet Lady, that muse
Who wears no shoes,
Yet tiptoes the clouds
Upon soft rains;

She comes with tides
And coldest day,
When twinkling stars
Are led astray.

She longs to swim the salty sea,
To tread the furthest shore,
Far away from the end of sky,
Far from her front door.

The tallest waves but grace her gate,
The highest peaks but pins,
Her gown of midnight, breath of dew
Sigh as our world spins.

There, the stories, ours to hold,
And rarely, Lady sees
Such a tale in her night sky
And minds so bright as these.

They are ours, here below,
Waiting, just the same,
Like Lady, like you
Who turns this page,
To give a tale a name.

Lady, the muse for many a pen
Shares a mortal's dream:
In this world of endless sights,
Hold all days in esteem.