The moon has always facinated me, which prompts this poem.
NASA Apollo Photograph courtesy wikipedia.com
Night Time Show
Are we going to let the strands brush over our moon?
Now the wind whisked it, with the clouds it is strewn.
Darkness billows the vacant sky so we see no more
Not unlike the window, concealed behind a closed and bolted door.
Waiting for change is evident, so once again we can see
That mesmerizing sphere that seems to always capture me.
Silence is present with no words being said in space
Not only do I wait, but looking up with no disgrace.
So gently, is the moon, once again revealed to peer
Presenting with its look of precious comforting cashmere.
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