The night has nothing to reveal to me that is more ornate than the fullness of her moon.
I know the chill that vitiates the warmth of day, which ne'er comes too soon.
Freely I feel the glow of that vigilant orb upon my cheek, as electric as a storm, as strong as gravity.
And desolately I lie awake to think of her watchful ray, lolling then reflecting upon the face of a pure and docile lake.
That gaper gal dances immutably as an aftereffect of the glaring on gentle rhythmic waves, where winds also turn about and stir the night clouds that seem to attract my gaze.
The sparkling stars are opulent and full of verve and grace. The croaking frogs are confident as they move about this place.
And if you listen to the night -as gently it doth fall- it will speak to you in the subtle tones of crickets chirping loudly, and owls hooting proudly while children scuttle home.
Perhaps I dream too much after all... but I hold high that sentinel moon!