When the wolves refuse to howl yowl and bark,
When the trees stop stretching for star and sky,
Does the moon turn her head, shameful to mark
The night? Is the moon scared to even try?

As the stars darken, is all her worth gone?
As the moon changes face, does she regret?
You will reach sin, said Fate. At dusk or dawn?
Is wasted potential a constant threat?

I wonder, too, if the moon gets lonely
When no longer seen as one-and-only.