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The silvery glow of a soft crescent
moon woke me
last night, as it laid
a kiss upon my cheekbone...
It traveled across
my room's window,
toying lovingly
with me as it
inched across the framed window,
little by
little, but, oh...so low.
O crescent moon, must you
travel?
Whither thou goest? Can you not
stay?
May I put you on a string and bob you up and
then down?
Or is it a game we must play?
I
track you. I trace you.
You travel (away.) I open my
eyes wondering...
are you gone yet? Will
you...stay?
Yet, you tease me. Crescent, to my amazement,
you paste yourself in the inky black night sky
and soft glow
as a sliver of an orb
with a twin companion star
twinkling
near you.
I embrace you, this night,
and hold you as if you are Friend.
Fresh with new meaning,
the words in Moore's wintry poem
echo through my sleepy head.
"The moon on the breast of
the new fallen snow,
gave the lustre of mid-day to
objects below."
You have given me a kiss of
light.
I delight in you, Crescent Gold.
You leave me
hoping in beauty.
Bathe me in the touch...
of your
milky white caresses.
Banish me to your
kingdom, Crescent.
I shall await your return, O Solemn One.
You are ever watchful,
ever faithful,
iridescent,
incandescent
Crescent Moon.
And this I sing for you:
"Au clair de la lune
Mon ami Pierrot
Prête-moi ta plume