The Moon

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

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