Moon-kissed suitor

Wet with kinder dew drops,

a rippling Sunday evening,

the sun closes its eyes to the cradled earth beneath.

The tiny drops of sunlight cling to the last freckles of the departing day.

The smoked glass sky,

where the moon comes alive,

waking from her days rest.

She dozes in silence,

looking upon the world as clouds of fantasy flit before her eyes,

caressing and amusing her.

Her silver coats the earth with the lightness of feather,

but just below her lashes glares a golden light through an open window close within her reach.

From this very high window,

mingled with the light,

filters through a glimmer of aged tunes and words entrapped within curls of music.

Along it floats pale tragedy of old wizened eyes.

The music from the window, breathing lethal warmth,

like a sleeping dragon,

warms the mild moon's brow.

She peers in impatience,

lowering her head,

she falls gently,

in search of the lyrical voice;

of him who serenades her.

Against the painted background,

sat a man with auburn hair hair;

a man with talking eyes.

He played for her of the long gone love of Lancelot and Guinevere;

of Romeo and Juliet,

and many others whose love was true.

But he, in the pausing silence of his ancient notes, told her how lonesome she really was.

So scared was the expectant moon the she began to weep.

She looked at the stars,

none of which she could reach and pull close to herself,

so there she wept alone as his damning words washed away her hope.

She lay her tired self upon her bed if smoke and down,

breathing her last, she died into the day.