I catch a glimpse of the moon
Shimmering across the almost still lake
Ripples ride the surface 
of the Blackened water
spreading the light across it
As if it were my lord
spreading the good news 
Far and wide from an alter

on and on the ripples unravel
Until they reach the trees 
Hanging from the meadow
Resting to a sudden end 
at the hardened gravel
No more will the blackened water travel.
But my lord can still be heard in the distance from the movement of the tiniest pebble