Rose of the Moon

The cobweb shimmers in the evening sun
as the sky turns darker and the sun sets
the flowers hide away their petals so quick
as the midnight hour rose appears
the water runs quietly around rocks and bends
the rose being the moons Divine trick.

The petals shine and glimmer in its makers rays
deceiving wondering eyes, blue as the midnight sky
a gentle touch from the kind and gentle wind
lets the rose know when exactly to begin
her wondrous fingers touch the silky soft vine
arching tall and significant, as yes it can shine.

She's the rose of the moon, the delight of many
for she knows how to quench your thirst
she's the soul of the party, the belle of the ball
she knows how to feel your thriving hunger
all eyes on her, all hearts broken by the fall
with eyes that kill, she's the belle of the ball.

She'll break his heart with the toss of her hair
she'll redeem his love with a whispered word
sleeps by day and lives by night
no one can stop her when she's out of sight
to be seen is what she dreams of
but as of yet, she is only but watched.

To speak, and to be heard, is music to her soul
to care, and to be cared for, she long for the moment
a whisper, a name, a midnight rose, a moon
a dream, a nightmare, a scream not died away
she's haunted, and not yet found
for she is the rose of the moon.