Rises in her nightly grace.
Nocturnal creatures will awaken soon
And gaze upon her godly face.
When wicked wolves lean back their heads,
They bark their joys and howl their fears.
And children clamber out of beds
And cry to parents with salty tears.
And cry to parents with salty tears.
Wise old owls take to the skies,
Searching for meals with which to fight.
They find mice with beady eyes
And grasp and take back into flight.
And here I sit upon my chair,
With heavy eyes and childlike wonder.
At Mother Moon I gladly stare,
And listen to creatures sound like thunder.
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