Lady Moon Poem by Natasa To

She rises without a sound,

hemming the sky in silver thread,

a quiet seamstress of midnight

with frost upon her head.



Lady Moon, pale sovereign,

keeper of borrowed light,

she spills her milk-white lantern

on the velvet fields of night.



She listens to the breathing earth—

to tides that lean and turn,

to wolves that lift their lonely psalms,

to hearts that ache and yearn.



Her fingers comb the ocean's hair,

draw secrets from the deep;

she smooths the furrowed brow of hills

and rocks the world to sleep.



Though scarred with ancient stories,

with craters cold and wide,

she wears them all like memory's lace,

no blemish left to hide.



At times a slender crescent smile,

at times a burnished queen,

she changes yet remains herself—

eternal, distant, seen.



And when the dawn comes blushing pink

to claim the eastern sky,

she fades, a whispered lullaby,

too soft to say goodbye.