Wacko Waxing Poetic
the moon waxes 'neath
the sleepy shadow
of its own halo
as yonder by the mirror
lake, a lucid lunatic
waxes poetic
as he listens and sways
to the tempo and
rhythm that go
with the tunes of colors,
red to violet, in the
lunar rainbow
which he alone clearly
hears in the night
with deep delight
he grins at the moon,
hours he can't keep,
crawls back to sleep.
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