From whence the moon came,
From whence the moon rose.
The birds play folly amidst the
Twilight branches, unruly in the
Northern wind amidst downy flakes.
Winter hath come to pay its due,
Frozen leaves beckon the dawn's ruse.
I pay no mind to the Earth's silent plight,
Tracing the frost upon ashen skies marrow.
My tongue heeds no sodden words on
Thy shallow path laid bare before the sun.
From whence the moon came,
From whence the moon rose.
A forge in the depths of a foreign sea,
The tides washed all the mildew and
Driftwood ashore, amidst the silent moor.
A nightingale swept into the vacant mist,
Feathers stained with stardust and pine.
The hawthorne tree shelters my coattails from
Rainstead and snow, a mountain crest in the
Forthbearing light has begun my winter's muse.
From whence the moon came,
From whence the moon rose.
Tread by firelight and awaken thy evening song,
For moonlight doth spread its reflection on the water.