• A wail rose up
    from the depths of the woods.
    Long and low and filled with sadness.
    "The moon," it cried, "to thee I owe
    this desperate pitying howl of woe.
    Save me from this toil and despair
    with thine mysterious power."
    Eerily, desperately,
    The stars blinked;
    Awaiting the decree.
    And once, as a whisper,
    as a screech of the owl,
    the hiss of the cricket,
    the rustle of the leaves,
    the moon spoke and sighed:
    "I shall leave be your state,
    for the music that you make
    to me, for me,
    is lovely."