My Moon Resplendent

Brightly lithesome she dances across the sky
my joyful lunar maid, my all
her winsome ways ever appalling the jealous sun
so somber and staid, and she
unwilling to stay his commanded course
playfully japes with a rhyme.

How haughtily he cringes, wincing at her smiles
her lips teasing in mirth
birthing yet another game to play, a song to sing
my jocund jesting one
testing the stodgy sun with each twirling reel
feeling fully alive and sublime.

“Do you know,” I ask, as she passes again
barely glancing down,
“how much I adore you, mo gealach àillidh
my fair fae one on high?”
“Then rise,” she says, treading the night
“and know the truth of time.”

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