In winter's shroud, the moon arises, a sage,
Clad in robes of frost, her visage grave and pale.
She wanders 'mongst the sleeping, barren age,
A silent sentry in the velvet veil.

Her gaze, a shepherd's crook, guides weary souls,
Through nights of ice and desolation's hold.
Beneath her lantern, fields of snow unroll,
Where silence whispers tales of ancient scrolls.

She cradles stars in arms of glacial light,
A mother's embrace in the coldest night.
With aspect stern, yet tender in her might,
She reigns o'er silence, cloaked in lunar rite.

In hushed repose, her crescent's curved domain, Bestows a quietus 'pon the earth's wan plain.