When the silvery moon shines in mystic wonder

You wonder what is the mystic splendour.

Amidst the thousand moons sailing in silver tide

Amidst those fortunate who can kiss a bride.

In the mystic shade of the whining light

When the bride had caressed her delight

Into the slivers sleeving reality.

To a spring of unknown eternity

Kiss of the springs with a tinge of ease

Meadows that whisper a Divine spring

Of the oft sultry lonely streams.

Where beaks spell splendour

When the lonesome thoughts of unsung cuckoos

Spell the magic whine of last wonder

Of the leaves breaded, of the tender shreds spread
Of  the twinkling unique mystique

Of those charismatic dead reborn in the glimmering light

Of the mystique kindle outside Lebensborn

Securing the tinge of a cabalistic spring

Devine O Thought thy magical wind

To endocrine me to that mystic smile
When birds can still smile
Amidst their momentary whine

Of the yearned spring in wonder.

When the sun slides amidst the tides

Amidst the moonlit yonder tides…

The waves of time sing a soothing lullaby

When sun died on a decaying day

Overtook the moon in tidal spray

Both echoed their last sonata.
Of the billions dead, in the congruous magic spread
Amidst the cocktail of an anonymous splendour.

Millions dead, millions bread
In the crib of an awesome magic wonder.

The moon is dead, billions bled

The tune is still a wander…

The last of the unsung moonlight vision.

The song of the moonlight is still afresh
Amidst its rigorous splendour..

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