My Lady Lives In The Moon

At ten p.m. opposite
the misty lake I strode
on my way back towards home
The tranquil waters betray not
a single emotion
the surface a smooth sheet of
glass, unbroken but
beneath lay a torrent of
undercurrents for the tide
was high and the moon was out
And I yearn for the lady in
the moon, where she lives
so faraway and I could
only see her when the moon comes down
once or twice


Pardon me readers, for I know not how to continue with the story. I'm stumped I must admit, lack of flow without and within. My apologies to keep you all waiting...A short piece, another meagre meal for the mass.

Your servant
Aristocrat