With dark clouds of damp and grey
and winds that freeze ones bone,
the bright sun of yesterday
is pale and sad upon his throne
for onto the world the raindrops fall
and with them comes the cold,
with each tear that strikes the fertile ground
his frustration grows twofold
Alone that night on his golden chair
out to the moon he calls,
that he might look upon her silver hair
and watch her prance across his hall.
Obediently she comes to him
dressed in radiant white,
so he bade to him she sing
and danced for his delight
A simple bow, she courtesies
and walks across the floor
for the sun, her lord, to cheer
she would dance forever more.
As she starts to sing,
she takes a graceful stance
here moonrise should begin
she starts her timeless dance
For hours she twirls and spins
darting from left to right
and such sweet melodies she sings
of silver doves in flight
The sun, it seems, is quite content
his woes of rain have gone away
he smiles in pure merriment
of a bright new day
