Sun and Moon

I walk towards the setting sun;
A raucous wind rides on my back.
No sooner is the evening done
Than all its redness fades to black.

But, rather than return to base,
I carry on along the trail,
Until my footsteps reach the place
Where once I heard a nightingale.

No nightingale is singing now;
To me, that comes as no surprise.
But then, below the songster’s bough,
The moon begins its steady rise.

I neither know nor question why
It’s coloured like the evening sky.

Photo by Namrata Shah on Unsplash

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