The Moon - A Poem

 I saw the Moon floating in the distant sky,

Squashed a bit, fiery red, as it went by.

Its surface is pockmarked with craters,

A battle-hardened veteran boasting scars!

In a firmament of twinkling stars, it sails

Dwarfing others, center stage it takes.

Like a beacon, it floats, a guiding light 

For those who journey in the darkest night.

And in the firmament of twinkling stars,

It takes center stage, dwarfing others by its

Light and size. What was a red beacon earlier,

Now lighter in colour, having shed its fever.

(I wondered if a fever had rendered it red,

Or had it risen from a fiery burning coal bed?)

But then as it rose into the dark firmament,

It burned like a beacon across the continent.

And so it went sailing steady, jaunty, and  merry

Across the sky on its  unwavering daily Journey,

As it HAS done to  guide with blessings a host

Or fill with hope those who all hope have lost!

Often seen, and missed, it beckons to the poet,

The scientist, astronaut, and the cosmonaut.

A celestial globe lighting up a world so busy,

With its craters, secrets, and all its mystery.

Curiosity and the Rover did wander across its

Surface, to unlock its origin, sand, and rocks.

Did HE wonder about its purpose as he lonely

Lay in a cave glancing at the globe in the sky?

I saw the Moon floating in the distant sky,

Squashed a bit, fiery red, as it went by,

And wondered if it did not have much to tell,

Mysteries to unravel, and much more to tell!

A Masterpiece so grand, an artist would need,

The Hand that fashioned it, the purpose I plead,

To reveal its cause, to connect distances apart?

Lovers to gaze, hope for those that depart?