Our Luna Friend
Stillness surrounds the blackness of night,
Transfixed and bewitched, as if frozen with fright.
Not even a leaf or stark twig stirs in pity,
Miles from the busying buzz of the city.
Reliant on senses, the dark calls the tune,
Its symphonic movements cast far away, strewn.
The stream trickles melodies, owls hoot their songs,
Silently flapping, the bat beats along.
