Dear Moon,
Bequeath to me a happy tale-
for mine rains to the salted rain's drought.
I've sought to be an interpreter but
interpreting misery leaves few ways out.
My cradle has fallen-
there's no rock-a-byes now-
plodding through the shit storms begs the question how-
there could be so many nights like this one in life?
I suppose there's no end to the Cancerian strife.
Yet through it all, I've remembered love and I swoon
Oh! How I hate the many cycles of this moon child's moons.
I think I'll have a hard time sleeping tonight-
So I'll bask in the turmoil of the pallid moon light.
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