The moon had stories to tell.
How waxing made him
shed his darkness day by day.
How his beloved silhouettes of birds
carried his dark sides as their soul.
They said- “no part of moon can ever be dark”.
Into the land of night they flew,
embracing darkness and cold.
Casting shadows of loneliness
and whispering tales of solitude,
flapping their wings
to the tune of songs of the night.
Across the fields, on the lonely tree,
an owl hooted staring at the moon.
The mistletoe lazed shining
under the moonlight,
rustled making a crispy noise.
Every one of the night seemed listening
to the stories of the silver light.
He has all the happiness and
all the love in the world.
Giving warmth through cool nights,
and holding his scars proud,
he lights up the sky but still
he wanes and wanes,
and then disappears.
And then the wait begins.
His birds, the mistletoe and
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