there's a secret feast in the deep of the wood tonight
i know, because the moon told me so.
he tried to keep it quiet,
hiding behind the clouds.
but they were too wispy.
the moon, he's hanging
bobbing, as if tied to the end of a string.
swaying, as if held between the fingers of a child
living the scene.
he's not simply bright and glowing,
but buttery warm.
the kind of warm that has smile crinkles at corners of it's eyes.
it's a party, i can tell.
by the way he's hanging, and glowing, and hiding.
i know you, moon.
go play.
give thanks.
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