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..