A two-third moon is looking down
On all that’s right and good:
The rooftops in the cherished town,
The treetops in the wood.

And, as we go our separate ways,
It looks down on us, too.
I wish I had its lustrous gaze,
So I could look at you.

We’d met to talk and eat our fill
From out the cedared land,
And I was keen to keep the bill
The waiter wrote by hand.

I put it in our Memory Drawer,
And all because that’s what it’s for.

Photo by Valentin Salja on Unsplash

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