Tangerine-shaped moon again tonight, so white
Low riding in the pitch-black cloudless Eastern sky
Hovering, just hovering, not resting any any table-top
house-tops or tree-tops,
Looking more like it's being held ever so still
By some invisible puppeteer's strings
But how'd the moon move there tonight, midnight,
What arc did it travel?
What course did it take?
There is so much that I don't know,
That I still need to learn.
