I whispered to the moon your name,
And I confessed to the stars all the feelings that I felt so in vain.
But no shooting star dared to let go of their heavens.
And so the constellations remained the same.
And so I whispered to the moon your name,
Confessing my fervent prayers in flames.
But these letters are addressed to the winds,
And the ethers are just black frames.
But I whispered to the moon your name,
Auburn embers confessing my shames.
These ethereal emotions are so delicate to feel,
Flickering glitters of little hopes I claim.