Red Hair at Moon Light

I sense in the air her muse perfume.
A perfect night, she sings to the Moon,
I see no birds; I don't see a soul,
Only I see Medusa and Minerva's Owl.

A curious bird this Owl is,
Because he sings all night like the Muse does.
Although I know some strange melodies,
I hear nothing but her sweet reveries...

And night shall never be gone
Because she's still in that window,
She's still the one
Looking and singing to the moon as if she was a widow.

And I remember her red hair, although now I see it,
It's marking the page on this Poe's book
Where horror and love are nothing but wit
I would like to see her live look.

And pale she is as the light of a candle,
With that mystery and mystique,
I think I can't handle
The sweetness of those steps with bare feet.

Let the night be eternal,
So I can see her at the window!
Perhaps, she's still singing a song which she learned from a Widow.