Beneath a sky of silver, she does roam,
A lunar goddess, far from bustling home.
Her heart, a moonlit pond, so deep and still,
Reflects the cosmos, every hill and hill.

With gentle hands, she gathers moonlit dew,
To nourish life, both old and something new.
A mystic's touch, her fingers soft as night,
She weaves her spells beneath the moon's pale light.

A lullaby she sings, so sweet and low,
To soothe the wild, to help the spirits grow.
Her voice, a whisper on the midnight breeze,
A promise of peace, among the ancient trees.