Moon In Pale Depression
Muted evidence proclaimed the subtle oddities of night
Lunar time should have reached the zenith of its height
No chirping crickets were heard, nor angry feline brawls
Lacking was the rhythmic chanting of nocturnal owl calls
No lengthened shadows grew where they should be cast
The moon, in pale depression, had only risen half mast
Strange and sullen manner, for summer's interlude to end
As though it were lamenting the loss of a beloved friend
Not just physical in nature, but with heartfelt immortal pain
Darkened was the dead of night for one whose love was slain
In grief there is no consolation, the future bleak and ominous
but there remains a hunger for love, one intensely ravenous
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