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!