Can I be the moon?
To dance at shore’s end
and lead the
strayed back home?
Yes,
I would be the moon.
The sun envying my haze
and offering what speech,
she cannot say.
Only at days’
break can she see.
Where as I,
can come and go,
revolve,
and revel in the
days’ wonder.

Oh,
what a glorious thing!
To have those that
bloom by my light,
wait for my kiss.
And,
I will steal to them
my cunning gaze.
So as to not follow,
but rather play.
I am the moon.
So soft and sung,
then written on poets’ lips.
Their pen,
the well,
that reveals my fluid
and graces their path.
I do not smolder those
dreamer’s orbs’;
but,
keep them abreast
with gleam.
How I love being me!
A precious gem
that shines on Roxanne,
leaving Cyrano
yet still to love.