The silver lyre, lady moon

Who plucks from the strings of purple sky the gentle autumn rain

Sent to seek the sleeping faces, lamenting hearts of the dreary

Her fingers long and ivory bows, quivers that hum like darkness

She is the song of twilight, the final resonation of an ever-sinking sun

As that sun dips its golden paintbrush down she rises like a dagger

A shining sliver on the edge of a starless sky dripping black ink

A beacon for the white petals and silver thoughts of dreams