A lovable fool,
the moon.
Eternally chasing what he can never achieve,
and is doomed to do so
until the last atom in her,
the Sun,
is consumed.
But never once does he curse her
or himself.
Every night he climbs
desperate for a just a few rays
of her warmth
and before every morning
he plunges just past the horizon
to reach for more.
I wonder
if he finds solace in the fact
that she is chasing him
just as dearly, too.


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