Ballad of the Moon

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.