The cry of the owl echoed
Through the trunks of the trees,
The only sound to break the still night
Through which we silently strode.
A breathless breeze blew the clouds
Crawling across the silver sliver of the moon.
The path of soft moss gave slightly
Beneath the lightly placed steps of our feet.
Your hand, firmly clasped in mine,
Radiated soft warmth,
Heating my heart much more than my hand.
And the locket about your neck
Cast a cross of light into mine eyes,
Bringing their gaze unto your brow,
Where it stayed, transfixed,
Thinking only of the wondrous beauty
Beaming from thine eyes in the golden light of the moon.
These thoughts, no more,
Are all that I can keep in my mind
On such a night as this.
For the beauty is the same
Through which we strode
Under the silver light of the moon,
The haunting cry of the owl,
And the breathless wind
On that night,
The night we walked as one.