The prophets and the Messiahs
Have all spoken in words soft
About the beauty of the moon
And her appalling dimensions.
Honey added to moon turns out into honeymoon.
A powerhouse of honey is a honeycomb.
Wild dreams of passion drip like honey
From the honeycomb just like rays from moon.
As inexorable as the sea,
She decides her tides and her moods,
Sometimes soft as the warmth of a
glowing campfire bathed by moonbeams
And at other times as soft as rose petals.
Standing by Stonehenge,
England’s favorite prehistoric monument,
I looked at the full moon,
Glowing like a huge golden bowl,
A labor of love ‘par excellence’,
And I saw your face in it shining
With the amorous beauty of love.
I fall in love with you,
With sweet moon my witness,
My companion while I traverse
The dark alleys of time
As we are like-minded, so calm, so serene.
I tell the moon about my love.
Feeling shy, she hides her face
Behind the white fleecy clouds
And I become