In the Gentle of the Moon


In the gentle of the moon, in the garnet of a star,
Feel the presence of a hope where the crowding shepherds are.

Soon the apple tree will bud, and the crimson fruit will fall;
But within the stable shed there’s no thought of that at all.

Touch the treasure of a faith that the mythic Easterns hear.
See the measure of a love come candescent down the air.