Singing the moon

In a twildly dusk, I see
a flaxum and her mimbles, we
open talk and loydal sing
with sunbeam-laden mulbering.

The verse rafeals a higher cause,
and willently, we sing then pause,
our fragenotions echo there
as we chorus contricare.

As just as then, we breathed and stopped,
fixembled, stable, clembed and swapped
A song sincerely wooed, then freed
and flaxum/poet now agreed.

Then in mirist silence found,
tracing back with embered sound
songs at dusk- the most revered
The ferrel-maried moon appeared

and strummed the night to denser aires
with open chords and fortunes fair.

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