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Clair de Lune

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There?s a tide

So strong

So violent.

The fishermen flee

In their small brittle boats

And happy are the trees

To see near them oats

For they know that the earth

Will forever be close.

And the winds become violent

As the moonlight punishes

And the flower?s deep violet

Turns black.

And the flow of time seems to slow at its gaze

For the moonlight has rage inscribed on its face.

Its eyes no longer craters, but silent volcanoes.

And the waves are helpless at the God?s command:

Their tears are useless, their cries fall bland.

Just when destruction seems to loom?

The moon retreats and leaves no doom.

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