Moon Sonnet

While lady you wane, my art lies asleep
My pen suffers likewise a season of dark
Sprinkle your sleep dust on your gentle arc
‘round the night, for my fire you keep.
Slim crescent, scarce can I, your zealous slave
Bear the burden of our gray time apart
Your absence inflicted by some black art
Hiding the glorious gleam that I crave.
My mournful recall of your orb all aglow
Monthly grows dim as your light leaves the sky
Dismayed by the dark, much rather would I
Sing of your fullness, that heav’nly night show
But look there – what beauty inspires!
Your distant star’s sparkle my heart sets afire!