Moonlit

A dusty old moon, Like a shaved rock And bricks bashed together And shale that was as Broken peanut butter brittle. But not little--as some were The size of or half a man--but Shrewd and congruent. These bits of rock or Moon rock some might say, Were used in the construction Of a everyday First Reach public abode. It was built in the hardest of times, But not as hard as Moonlit, A ale that would bring you Back to giddy childhood memories And a warm hearth's fire, Like your heart, but its pour Even as a steaming smelter To dry parched tongues in radiated heat. Moondivers were risking There lives day or night. A rock, or, as they would Have it, a pearl in the dark sea, A pricey, timeless ripple in time-space. A ageless hope of mankind, Except for the 'muscle' within, Watching ever gleefully as the Expectant watchtower, Waiting for her mother ship, And to one day part on her white shores. A sign of hope, she was the First Reach of Moon Lodger's Inn.