Man in the moon,

I know just how you feel –

caught between the wax and wane;

powerless to change.

Once new,

then fleetingly full,

your better half is blue,

becoming black.

No lovers you, thus, attract;

nor songstresses.

Even lunatic passions can sleep

beneath your cradle incomplete.

This sphere you serve

is fickle as fog!

yet your casual constancy

reflects no despondency.

Soon, your loyal dog

must follow darkly,

and stunted, searching eyes

for you will burn.

If only once

you did not return.

Man in the moon,

I wish I had your faith.