Under the light of the new moon she waits,
The child bestowed with the dark gift as her fate
Watching idly the shadows cast by the trees...
A lone figure, fitting the darkness with ease
A vision of Innocence to behold for the unaware
To the superstitious, the Imp with golden hair
A gift given to satisfy a careless selfish whim,
The promise of Eternity, now a mirage of dreams...
With the twilight comes this fledgling s waking hour
The night embracing her like a loving mother...
With a face that shone with much angelic bliss,
And sweet lips that grants the deadliest kiss...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem