Lonely
times,
Crying
under the moonlight,
A
reflection catches the purity
Of the moon
glowing quietly.
Here I
stand
As silent
as dead,
The sky is
my land,
Soothing my
pain with love,
Sending
sacred blessings from above.
Why does
everything end?
Becoming
nothing but dust?
It's hard
to understand
That those
flowers will wither,
And their
sweet scent will become bitter.
Sad
lullaby,
Made by the
weeping Nature,
Every night
the moon will cry,
As she has
to die once again,
Only a pale
memory will remain.
My dear
Lord,
Don't want
to fall asleep,
Just won't
say a word,
I'll just
cry with the moon,
For she
will die soon.
