In the quiet time, I sometimes watch her at play,
though often shy and peeking from the shade,
cheek kissed by the sun when he’s closed his day,
delicate shadows by her silver blue breath made,
that tease and trick my mind into giving them life,
with the choice of what form kindly left to me,
looking benign, no match for night, yet like a knife
her lunar rays pierce the dark ink and pull the sea,
dragging moody waters back and forth as she will,
while bathing mankind in her glowing lover’s rinse.
Known for beauty and the wishes she may fulfil,
adored at the start of time and adored ever since.