Crescent

Was waiting for darkness in childhood.
Expecting excitement and sense.
Leading a crew to the murk woods –
A tribe of Indian friends.

Watching the deepness of draw-well.
Wingless angelical croon.
Searching for wizards to marvel,
If any can take to the Moon.

Crescent, brother Moon,
Crescent Moon.
Crescent, brother Moon,
Brother Moon.

Was hiding in magical aspens,
From grandpa with punishing scourge.
Raising the clock hands all upwards,
So Night can take me and purge.

My lovely faith, Autumn.
The Sun is dreamlike and spoof.
Eight angels are flying from bottom,
Like birdies up to the roof.

Crescent, brother Moon,
Crescent Moon.
Crescent, brother Moon,
Brother Moon.