My window faces north-northwest,
And, while I like these skies,
The spectacle I love the best
Is hidden from my eyes.
The moon in all its different forms
Is such a sight to see
I’d suffer illness, loss and storms
To bring it home to me.
And so I leave my moonless vault,
And, pushing back the stone,
I shuffle to a silent halt
To see I’m not alone.
The fullest moon is looking down
On all the people of the town.
Photo by Thula Na on Unsplash
