a mysterious clock
hanging in the sky
by day the sun takes over
and by night the moon is shy
she whispers very gently,
and the sun extends his ear
wishing that it will be a confession of love that he will hear

but the sun hears nothing
of the confession the moon had made,
as he is swiftly moving out of touch
and the darkness throws it's shade,
once again the moon is lonely
yet doesn't break all night
"out of reach you may be,"
she whispers
"but at least i can bask in your light..."

a tragic love
a pitiful fate,
as their hearts drift away,
the sun sees her empty eyes
still looking at him,
patiently,
wistfully,
painfully,
whimpering

and as the cycle restarts
of moments cut too short,
nights and days will pass
hoping,
longing,
yearning for each other
whilst creating a world of light and beauty
still repaid with a constant heartache,
a hand of love so bittersweet
even for the most worthy of beings

love is a torturous cycle
that the sun and his loving moon
are forever entangled in

Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year’s pleasant king;
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing—
  Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

The palm and may make country houses gay,
Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay—
  Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,
Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,
In every street these tunes our ears do greet—
  Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
    Spring, the sweet Spring!

the change between happiness and pain is just like the change between sun and the moon; inevitable.
but the sun happily moves over and welcomes the moon each and every time; and vice versa.
you can't have one without the other, so embrace both.