How pleasing is the moon, Glimmering fulgently in the dead skies. Concealing herself during the noon, So you will never know if she cries.
Though encircled by lots of stars, In loneliness she would rather be , A sequel produced by lots of scars, Well can you hear her lonely plea?
In solitude she sits alone in the sky, Soothing those who weep all night, Hearing the plea of those who cry, But to herself her lonely sigh.
Away from crowd and far from pain, She stows herself with lot of might, Somewhere in the welkin she would rather be, Though only visible some or few days.