Moon's Charming Phases

As day ends once more. I am thankful for,
the moon, whose phases charm with trusty change,
peeks shyly, just a thread, brightness in store,
flirty clouds that touch her lightly, rearrange

the perfection of her glistening arc.
Blue black, the sky offsets the thread-wide blaze,
no rival to the all compassing dark,
among stars that the midnight pasture graze.

How I enjoy the mellow moon at full,
named harvest, hunters', in its season hailed,
brightly beaming, avoiding clouds, spun wool,
another night its shining path is sailed.

But, still, that brave, thin thread, its ember fanned,
travels its brief excursion through the sky,
Father of all, Creator, this marvel planned,
that small, as well as grandiose, please our eye.