The Moon Drifts
Night falls over the city close,
Floating a Technicolor dreamcoat,
off the celestial hat stand,
painted in hues I would love to blend.
Muted buildings in dull black,
Smoke curling from one lone stack,
Shapes in cones, trees, and squares,
Naught down there but worldly cares.
Up in the sky, the moon drifts,
In a sliver of light like a candlestick,
In a shadow box of pinks and blues,
A vast canvas of galactic hues.
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