The distant moon is beautiful tonight—
As I lie in bed with fright,
Of all the things I must do tomorrow,
Wishing I could be left to my sorrows.
Looking upward toward the night,
In the reflection of the starlight,
The moon makes my heart race.
My insides twist and ache.
Is something about it sad?
Is its likeness making me mad?
Are the cloud strangling it midair?
And why am I to care?
About that lustrous sphere's glow,
My heart begins to slow;
Longingly glancing at the moon,
Wishing for rest very soon .
Jun 18, 2022
Jun 18, 2022 at 1:13 PM UTC
The distant moon is beautiful tonight—
As I lie in bed with fright,
Of all the things I must do tomorrow,
Wishing I could be left to my sorrows.
Looking upward toward the night,
In the reflection of the starlight,
The moon makes my heart race.
My insides twist and ache.
Is something about it sad?
Is its likeness making me mad?
Are the cloud strangling it midair?
And why am I to care?
About that lustrous sphere's glow,
My heart begins to slow;
Longingly glancing at the moon,
Wishing for rest very soon .
Copyright 2022 Christian Anderson. All Rights Reserved.