𐦍– columbina

The moon hangs bright, a silver dime, Lost in the velvet dark of time. My moon, I knew, a gentle face, Now hides behind a distant place. My heart still yearns, a quiet plea, To climb back up and set it free. To feel its light, so soft and warm, And shelter safe from every storm. Though years have flown on silent wings, My memory sweetly, softly sings. I still wish for that moon above, The moon I knew, the moon of love.