I listen to the gentle stirring of the moon,
as though hope spreading its amber wing
taste its varying mood and frame of mind
like sangria coupled with rainier cherries.
Oh! what does it feel gliding alone tonight
does it breathe the same despair as we do,
I trail behind and observed quiet strength
I watch as tears flowed as strand of pearls.
Perhaps the moon has grown weary of heart
and wishes for a couple more merrier sights.
I offer what seemed like a thousand dreams,
hear its laughter as sweet as a nightingale —
for the moon had yet to share its tale.
Photo credits: Pinterest
Posted for Poetics @ dVerse Pub