I'd rather be the moon
For she can be gazed upon
without the blinding pain of the suns' corona
She is noxious in the darkness
Autumnal,
cold and grievous
Hanging there heavily,
lush and languorous
Like the womb of the world,
she guides the ebb and flow of life
Selenic and motherly,
She is fertile and ever changing
Her surface is cratered with millennia of wear,
but she still glows beautifully, unaffected,
like a goddess of the night