In the quiet hours when the moon's a sliver,
I sit with my tea, my thoughts begin to quiver.
Confetti like emails and the deadline awaits,
Whilst my mind flirts with celestial fates
A half-remembered dream from last night’s show,
did I dance with shadows, moving slow?
Talking to the moon, again…
Echoes caught in a crystal ball
Passionate flames now flicker dim,
The amber fades on a whim
But oh! The beauty in this gentle decline,
Hanging low caught in a twine
And as it pulls tides and hearts alike,
I’ll raise my cup to the waning night.