The Fevered Moon

Hung in the air by phantom hands,

Pulling tides up higher sands,

The sun turned inside-out it seems,

To guard and defend our magic dreams.

Heard many confessions of misplaced fear,

And listens still with dutiful ear,

Abundant troubles will weigh it bare,

But who will listen to Artemis’ cares?

Do we ask too much in boon,

To tell our secrets by the moon?

©Daegal