I let time run down on the day,

for the Moon requires

a period of mournful solace

at the passing of the ignorant Sun.

 

Shrouded in black, making sad overtures

to the recently deceased

and wringing hands in public,

the Moon acts accordingly

in the night time sky

as it basks it relative heartache

and symbolic woe, the stars

unaware of how glad the Moon

is to see the back of the Sun.

 

The night claims the power

over tide and dominates