The moon moves across the sky tonight,
Slowly, but predestined.
It will dance with its star this dusk,
Just like it did last night
And the night before.
Maybe a little farther apart,
Maybe a little closer,
But their season to dance is here,
And dance they will, away.

Then someday morning finds the moon
Still going down,
And sometimes the moon will stay
All day and never dance with anyone.
But his sulks and pouts are appointed,
And maybe, so are mine.

-jenn