Daughter of the Night

The daughter of the night I say,
 Is not blight,in any way
 At dusk with her blood-red cape,
softly, so we will not wake.
She will ride up to the stars,
On her lovely mare.
It is stars she will find there.
She plucks a star that gleams,
And fills up that star with dreams.
All wrapped in wisps of moons,
Like silver spoons.
Down down below.
Nobody knows ,
Where she lays her head.
What is her bed?
When the sun begins to peep,
She begins to sleep.