In moonlit meadows, soft and wide,
The sleepy sheep begin their stride.
Through silken grass, they gently roam,
To find a song to guide them home.
Beneath the stars, their lanterns glow,
A twinkling path where dreams may flow.
The meadow hums with whispers deep,
Calling forth the flock of sheep.
They cross a brook that sings a tune,
Its waters dance beneath the moon.
The willow trees with branches low,
Sway gently in the river’s flow.
One tiny lamb with eyes of light,
Points upward to the stars so bright.
“Up there,” he whispers, “lies our song,
A lullaby where dreams belong.”
The flock ascends a hill of gold,
Where ancient whispers long been told.
The Shepherd Moon, so wise and fair,
Guides their steps with tender care.
The stars above begin to chime,
A melody both sweet and fine.
Each note floats down, a silver gleam,
To wrap the sheep in peaceful dreams.
The sleepy sheep, their quest now done,
Rest softly ‘neath the rising sun.
For in the stars, they found their tune,
A lullaby sung by the moon.
So close your eyes, let slumber creep,
And join the flock of the sleepy sheep.
In moonlit meadows, safe and warm,
Dreams will keep you from all harm.