Guardian
A silvery-black crescent,
upon a black canvas
and this is a moment,
fern and moss don’t abandon.
Nature’s night magic
producing illusion;
it is not dreamscape,
hallucination or delusion.
There are things unseen,
in night’s liquid realm;
feathers well-preened,
soon to perch upon helm.
Herein lay wisdom,
gained from insight;
eyes in ascension,
guard on this night.
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