You are dancing, so frail like a small faded rose.
I'm looking down on you, so bizarre.
You are flying with moths. In an arrogant pose
I'm sitting on the sand throne not far.
You were ready to run competing the Moon
To achieve a clear dawn in the East.
I am scolding the night cold. I'll get frozen soon!
Irritated I am like a beast.
You are smiling and laughing, all wet with dew,
As if you've caught luck in your hand.
Dying from black gloom, I am looking at you
From my unassured throne of sand.