The white moon
Klaus Miehling
The white moon
shines in the woods.
From each branch
springs a voice
beneath the arbor.
Oh my beloved...
Like a deep mirror
the pond reflects
the silhouette
of the black willow
where the wind weeps.
Let us dream! It is the hour...
A vast and tender
calm
seems to descend
from a sky
made iridescent by the moon.
It is the exquisite hour!