The moon is a flower to bloom in the dark
No a tree.
With leaves unfaithful,
With clouds of bark
Though, the imperious hands of the winds
Steal them away
These green petals shine brightly?
No,
They are dimmed
In the shadow cast by the flower eye
Which flourishes still in a way
The envious and scathing petals can never fare.
The moon and the night have a romance,
Not easily tampered with by the simple leaf.