The Moon

A clear sky after sunset,
A canvas with multiple shades of blue.
Stars visible at the darker end,
Unaccompanied by the moon.

A waxing crescent will start to appear.
A tilted grin, a waif,
Delightfully ethereal.

The grin grows into a gasp, saying ‘O’,
‘Look at you, down below’,
‘Basking in my aura’.

Slowly it begins to wane,
‘I shall be back, miss me not’, says the moon.
‘Hope there are no clouds to block the view’.

It winks.
It grins, bidding adieu.