Moon

Look at that distant charm,
He crawls over the sky,
He in the full moon night,
Behind the clouds; he hides,
And only as they waver by,
Shall he take back the lead,
Making sharp and shiny streaks,
Of it's silver beams that make
-silhouttes of grosbeaks...
For the enth time shall he,
Peek from the smoky gloom,
Yet again the clouds shall
-they take away the moon,
With the rise of the morning that,
Perhaps comes too soon...
I wander to find solace,
When comes the morning's charades,
Shall I wait for the moon to come,
Until then the poet can write,
The glories of the sun...