(Or is it, Lunatic’s Love?)
The moon, so loveless, wanders on,
yet every night she follows me.
I wish she would just stay away,
or better if she would just stay.
And what if I will stand or flee,
her will, caprice, she’s here, she’s gone.
I love the moon, and long for night.
I hate how she will waning leave.
Her furtive glance she waxing shares,
until my heart, again it dares.
Yet all for naught, she will bereave,
and disappear out of my sight.
Tale Told 