August Moon, you shine on us all
a little less, somewhat bleakly.
A rugged globe with scars and rents
weighed down by truth, rather meekly
baring your naked, lonely soul
once veiled, in radiant silk stole.

Now, you seem just to coldly glance
at cracked, dry earth and withered grass.
Was it not but a while ago,
that you were fierce, an Irish lass
born to inspire, formed by fire;
silvern creature of desire?

Perhaps, mortals must be as gods
to bear the weight of such a load,
to weather three seasons, in hopes
and dreams of summers down the road:
echoing with laughter sublime -
for your sake, frozen fruit of Time.

Yldara 270807853