The Moonchild's Love

Inconstant is the moonchild's love,
As fickle as the moon.
Her love will grow in a week or so
But it will wane as soon.

And pale, old moon, at my sad lot;
The one who loves her sitting here,
While she is out to run about
With one who loves her not.

Weep for me old moon, oh weep,
And see what pain you start,
For when I saw you out tonight
My startled heart did skip a beat
For I am forty miles from her,
A million miles from her heart.

Sky, be not clear!
Stars, cease to shine!
The joy you show
Is no joy of mine.

Inconstant is the moonchild's love
As fickle as the moon.
Her love will grow in a week or so
But it will wane as soon.

Send comments to:

Steve Falkenberg

steve.falkenberg@eku.edu