A crescent moon can still be rich,
however full it might not be.

At noon not fully estimated,
at dusk in bloom, ejaculating,
in watery ditch reflected
and on midnight’s gentle stroke
ascending to the sky,
blending with the stars’ parade.

It’s glowing light will surely fade,
but not in vain! – you said,
so I waited for the morning sun,
crying softly in the willows’ shade.

The dying shadows of the night
foretold an ending to our dawn,
and an altogether different kind of light.