Ballad of the Moon（1/1）

to the forge

in le of flowering nard.

ttle boy stares at ares.

taring hard.

in the shaken air

the moon moves her amrs,

and shows lubricious and pure,

s of in.

“moon, moon, moon, run!

if the gypsies come,

t

to make ;

“let me dance, my little one.

he gypsies come,

the anvil

ight.

“moon, moon, moon, run!

i can feel;

“let me be, my little one,

dont step on me, all starce!“

closer comes the horseman,

drumming on the plain.

the forge;

his eyes are closed.

the olive grove

come the gypsies, dream and bronze,

their heads held high,

their hooded eyes.

o owl calls,

calling, calling from its tree!

the sky

he hand.

the forge,

all ting, crying.

the air is veiwing all, views all.

t the viewing.