Brittany Aston

The moon shyly hides her face
Like a modest maiden—
Innocent, and beautiful.
A little corner of her peeks out,
Winking mischievously,
Giving promises unimaginable
To a human mind.
Stars shine timidly, as if afraid
That they’re a lamp to run out of oil.
And leaves shiver, the small light
Playing with their reds and golds—
They look like the clothes of the gods.
And I look up to them as the maiden
Tips my head as she regains her boldness
And blows gently into my face.
She’s laughing at me again,
I feel it.
And although I know the joke’s on me,
When she laughs, I must—
And the frosty sound reverberates—
Clothed in the night.