in still of night, the shadows fall the moon her rise, the dark her call the silent corridor she hears celestial music to her ears the light is shed for skin of black as shadows call her to her pack the mind her music, song her dance the whispering night does entrance new moon, the jewel pinned to her breast beneath a note that does request the air does howl, the moon does blink her path to guide, the night to drink now found to her, dark light in one a mark to prove, `tis to be done `t. imaan tretchicovmanicova 19may05
