The Moon spins in a pirouette
This night where through the tree tops glide
Pale ghosts in creamy silhouette,
Down to the comber-heavy tide.
From deep within the haunted lake
Is sung the saddest madrigal,
Enough my very heart to break,
Its echoes vast, sidereal.
Upon her head gold coronets,
I watch her from the lake arise,
Her throat is gemmed with red rosettes
While there are star streams in her eyes.
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Submission Name: From the Lake
