by Gina Mcdavitt

Created on: January 28, 2010

The Moon is a mysterious man

Sitting, perched all alone

His eyes have seen so much pain

Everyone else has come and gone

First he is a glorious crescent

Most of his face hidden

He shows only a glimmer of his beauty

And keeps the rest within

Sometimes he hangs low in the evenings

casting a ghostly orange hue

It mesmorizes our souls

And takes us to the land of dreams

Sometimes, he hides from us

Faking his death

Theres just a shimmer around the edges

where he normally sits

His beauty is unmarked

When he puts his best face foward

Gleaming round beacon of hope

Of what is to come

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