Far-falling from a distant heaven,

  A gentle radiance in the nightward sea

  drifts down, pale and faded

  reflections of a wayward glory.

  The day, a dying memory,

  Wanders in the shadows,

  in gardens lulled with a phantom light.

  A soft music drifts in eternity,

  a song sung by crickets and nightbirds

  who bear the burden of the murmured night.

  Wingless yet the midnight seemed

  a garden untouched by the gaze of any

  but the silver divinity

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  that watches over the night.

  A soft wind blows through

  the pensive, dream-filled hours,

  and moonlight flutters

  like a windblown moth

  between the shadows of the trees

  and the creatures of the night.

  They linger there

  In lofty pallor shrouded,

  in ivory song; a colder melody,

  a crescent rune that bears

  the invocation of sorceries

  and hidden summonings,

  magic folded in the blossoming

  of a night-bloom:

  a flower's moon-measured lullaby.