The moon has not set all day
Mothlike he has swung in the sky
Lingered on the lashes of the mountains
Avoiding the reproach of the wrathful sun
And now that she has retired to her bed
He nestles in the clouds and settles down
Like a working man melting into armchair and hearth
Coffee in hand, paper blanket on lap
Bleary-eyed he watches the world in slumber
A pale shade of envy over their nocturnal peace
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