Oh, the splendor of a crisp night
And an ivory gold moon,
How my soul takes flight
With wonder, not returning soon.
The crescent ­ so sharp and clear,
It slices the dark, so smooth,
It seems incredibly near,
As my anger, it soothes.
A vision of beauty,
Not often seen,
To describe it, my duty,
Shadows, tall and lean.
The crescent moon, its path nearly done,
It sinks in the west,
Ever running from the sun,
Continuing its quest.