Dear Moon

It was midnight in the month of June,
When Poe so wrote of you, dear moon.
Your surface scarred,
With craters dark,
Your form no more,
With singing lark.

I have often thought of you, dear moon,
When tragedy strikes us far too soon.
Things here change,
Yet you remain,
Alone and calm,
Your starry frame.

The tides may turn, the earth may spin,
But your one constant draws me in.
I stand alone and always find,
That from your post you never hide.
In this world we lose or gain,
Our lives will end yet you remain.

Our chance is one,
Beyond the sun,
Will be our resting place.
Your pearly face,
Does continually grace,
The earth and sea as one.

You watch over the nights, dear moon,
Where fear and fancy start to loom.
Your praise is earned,
We never return,
This selfless act,
We never learn.

Pray tell me your secret, dear moon,
How do you dispel your mournful gloom?
For we have loved and lost,
But at greater cost,
Must be that loss to you.