The Silver Moon Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

The silver moon is up, the sterling silver down,
Lucinda comes down to sup, in elegant evening gown.
Without, in starlit darkness, dreaming is the town,
within, the beams of happiness are streaming from her crown.
Golden chestnut tresses, soft eyes of honey brown,
my prayer's that ne'er her features fair should frame care, wear, wear frown.
Should sorrows wear or grieve her, then groundless life would sound.
Lucinda is dressing for dinner in gossamer evening gown.

(23 March 1975)