She had caught it,
that graceful lunar creature,
the cozy, warm surrender,
midnight’s finest feature.

But it was restless tonight,
or else had better plans.
For off it flitted through the skies,
leaving sad and empty hands.

Twice the old grandfather clock spoke,
his voice low and hollow.
"Sweet dreams," he called, unaware.
Her resentment was hard to swallow.

Night’s sky was full of moon and stars;
she gazed pleadingly at their bright faces.
Every one twinkled coldly back,
they would not share their graces.

Not a sound but the whisper of bat wings,
the muffled song of grandfather clock.
For all the world slept, while she...
simply did not.

"Damn you," she told the chipper song birds
giving grey dawn her rightful praise.
She willed the sun back to it’s bed;
it so cheerfully stayed.

Sun's golden rays left gentle kisses
upon her furrowed brow.
And in her heart she sang along...
begrudgingly anyhow.