Am of two minds,
split, indecision for now.
A moonscape, out.
The lady of the night, not full,
no; missing some of her fullness,
but little of her beauty
She’s lovely, is the moon,
so lovely that her magic holds me enthralled,
fearful to miss a second of it,
though the muse awakens,
and of moon’s tickle would muse thrill.
Poor eyes of mine,
loving the sight, the calm, the moon
not able translate that to fingers
for they be weak, the eyes,
though the hearts so willing,
the eyes do fail, and worse, know it;
so I’s torn in two,
to stay and stare, the moon in her grace
or rush in to write, muse in her flow.
(c)GayUganda 17 Dec 2007