The moon does not blaze its way
From the cusp of the horizon
To the heights of the atmosphere.
It is content to meander slowly,
From the tops of the ridges
To the apex of its nightly rounds.
There, with its reflected brilliance
(Shining alike on cloud and clear)
(Without judgment or care;
An almost caressing guardian
Of the night sky)
Surveys the wonders
Of a humanity asleep
Even longing for the other
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