A full Moon on the horizon of a powder-blue sky
The gentle breeze of Dawn passes me by,
caressing my cheeks like a lost lover,
soft as the clouds which in the distance hover.
I turn around, my back to the Moon:
the melody of daybreak begins its silent tune.
The first gossamer threads of Dawn's embrace,
cobwebs of brightness, Light made of lace.
A lonely bird towards the Moon flies,
hoping in vain to stop its goodbyes;
and my romantic soul melancholically sighs,
attempting to imprint the image in my eyes.
As the sunrise ripens, a celestial fruit,
it robs the lunar ambience, grabbing its loot.
And it basks in the riches that it slowly steals,
in brilliant ombre shades, as the Moon - defeated - reels.
The night's companion quietly fades,
ethereal pallor on now greyish shades;
no more powder-blue, grey turns to white -
it's the bed of clouds, prepared for the nightlight.
You've done your job, illuminating the way,
to travellers and dreamers, lest they go astray;
Rest for a while, take a little break,
until Sun retreats - then you can awake'.
The Poets' Lamp, nocturnal glow,
you'll shine again, with stars in tow.