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Child of the Moon
by Caél Ó Maolain

Child of the moon, I, Who feels beckoned at her rising. Silver orb of bright desire, She pulls at my wits with unknown power. Strangely, like the woman she is, She changes her presence, Never quite the same two nights in a row. Slender thread of hidden might to Bold radiant glory, caressing the darkness, Altering the moods of men Through her many stages. I fall in love with her splendered face, Yet, she stays above my reach, Always chasing her lover, the Sun, Sometimes hiding in his arms, Not caring what becomes of the night. Under the coolness of her light Love is pulled like ocean tides, Sometimes high, sometimes low, Always shifting, never quite satisfied To be in one place.

Copyright by Cael O'Maolain 


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