The Moon is high and rising, 
And the world has gone to sleep. 
And I am gently sighing, 
As I recount the loves I keep. 

One is for my mother, 
Who's been there all along. 
And two is for my fathers, 
Who raised me to be strong. 

Three is for my sisters, 
And the ones that they do love. 
And four is for the god 
I hope and pray is up above. 

The next moment is silent, 
For those who came before, 
And any who's known love or cried, 
But loves and cries no more.

Then comes every other girl, 
Who's ever had my heart, 
And then again the same amount. 
Who's torn it part from part. 

And as I lie and muse upon 
Which love that I love best, 
I close my eyes and drift to sleep, 
And dream about the rest.