As the sun lowers herself in her bed,
Painting the sky molten and fiery red,
With streaks across cerulean expanse,
An adornment of youthful romance.

Clouds sail adrift in their graceful retreat,
Passing her canvas—a billowing sheet—
And, catching her rays, they hold them with care,
To offer them up like an evening prayer.

Yet, as the moon stirs, he might shed a tear
For the slumbering solar chandelier,
His pale glow pulsing with longing to feel
The dreams where their light and love can be real.

But when dawn creeps near to rouse her from sleep,
And illumines the darkness o’er the sweep,
The moon returns to his lunar chamber,
Bound as her distant yet constant admirer.
©️2025 David Cornetta