Late at night, as the day meets its end,
in a sky where streetlights no glow can lend,
down a dark alley, winding and tight,
a soft gleam flickers through clouds in the night.
Through the clouds, through,
the moon shyly breaks into view.
Form and emptiness ebb and flow,
playing a game of hide-and-show.
Lifting my head to glimpse its light,
I find it follows me, soft and white.
With a scent of asters in the air,
it whispers, “Go on, without a care.”
Above my head, like silver beams,
it guides my path with gentle gleams.
