Mistresses of Moonlight
The moon shines bright, its rays transforming all.
Its rays hitting the yellowed leaves, in the middle of fall.
Those rays of the night hit those rare figures below
Away from the rain, away from the snow.
These figures are vague, mere wisps if you will.
The forest become silent, the air becomes still.
Suddenly, one begins to move and sway.
Swifter than wind, more graceful than hay.
One after another, they all begin to follow.
Their cries ring out, ringing through out the hollow.
These figures take shape, amid the mystic and grace.
Hair slowly flutters down, more delicate than lace.
A countenance, marked pale by the moon,
Followed by a mouth, singing a long forgotten tune.
Their eyes do open, grey and forlorn
These mystical figures, just recently born.
Their dance continues, much grace is shown
Their dance in nights darkness, forever unknown.
The lights first rays begin to touch the darks sky.
The figures dissipate, whispering their goodbyes.
These figures will be back, under the cover of night.
Their role will be forever, theses dancers of the moonlight.