The silver rays penetrate the shadows of the night,
As I stare mindlessly into the far distance.
Not knowing what tomorrow brings to light.
The wind whistles as it passes by.
The trees dance to the rhythm.
Lips pressed against the cold window,
As I busk under the faceless moon.

The man worries about his dwindling savings.
Girls clamber at the end of their shelf-lives.
The big round moon sits gracefully on its thrown,
Observing its peaceful subjects.
Shimmer and slumber through the night.