All but a misty figure.
They cast shadows among the towns,
Cluttering up like scared figurines
Docked along the skyline.

Its circular shape hides behind the stars,
While some light tries to seduce the eye.
The moon is not like any other,
Just hanging on a piece of invisible thread,
Looking down at her audience.

A white aura glows from its edges,
revealing its prospect of goals.
It appears to have knowledge,
And knows the pain of passing time

With changing seasons.

Its lighted path guides us like a small road,
A pathway towards the stars.
It smiles down upon
Earth which was made out of nothing,
turn into a rounded hope.

The moon,
A circular shape,
Casts shadows along the way.
It follows with a hand outstretched,
Spreading peace within all.