Veiled Lustre

Be it day or night, yonder moon shines bright, beauteous is its hue, lustrous soft white, yet during the day, is veiled from our sight, an apparition odd - moon’s bright lustre that awed, now dims and appears thawed - although it is not flawed. Womb of space, moon’s nest, wherein it does rest hidden from view till sol sets in the west, shining again at night, as though in jest. We best rest thoughts unjust - accuse not the moon’s crust; knowing now sun’s fierce thrust - turns human sight to dust. By day the moon hides, we too crouch in fright, although we’re living light, we’re by fears gnawed, afraid we’ll be in light of truth undressed, thus God’s benign touch, hesitate to trust.