A Jazzy Moon

A jazzy moon I see before my eyes. Born as a small ball, it alters in size. Where does it rise from while I'm in deep sleep? Do this moon and I have some norms to keep? As a seed within the womb of the earth Does the dream wait for due time for its birth? The moon springs from the silvery gold sky. Should it remain eternally on high? I find the moon nowhere when I awake. Mirage, like fog, is erased at daybreak. My dream and I, indeed, dwell together. We are the same in bright and dull weather.