Waiting in the Moon

For many a year, within my heart, Your silent presence held its sacred part. I dared not set you free, for fear I knew, The endless, final loss of sight of you.

How many suns have risen, set and gone? How many storms have broken, raged till dawn? The memory of your warmth, a subtle fire, Grows hotter now with unquenched, sharp desire.

I cannot speak the name that brings me peace, But hold it close where all my whispers cease, And in the quiet of each lonely night, I take it out to taste, and hold the light.

The summer's heat was witness to our start, Where pond frogs croaked a murmur, low and smart; And even the moon, serene in silver grace, Could not conceal the freshness of that place.

It was that day you leaned and softly said, A secret tale that danced inside my head: That our acquaintance, wondrous, fine, and true, Sprang from the classic verses born of me and you.

A day arrived, the maple leaves ablaze, I ran to tell you, through the crimson maze, The mountain's fire of scarlet, grand and deep, Was my profoundest vow for you to keep.

That very night, the waking broke the dream, I searched in panic by the fading gleam; But here was naught except the wind's cold breath, And just a gentle sigh, like words of death.

The silent tears descended, soft as rain, You took the autumn, causing endless pain, And left me stranded, standing by the shore, Of winter's bitter snow, forevermore.

The spring has come, but still no word of you, Your heart resides where seasons bloom anew, In paradise, where all is sweet and bright, While mine is frozen in the cold and rainy night.