The Waning Moon Poem by Gert Strydom

(after Percy Bysshe Shelley)

Shapelessly white it spread its light
ailing like a old withered man
in the darkness of that night
its half a thumb’s span

rising very slow
taking half steps before pausing for breath
it had a whimpering kind of glow
as if it was very near to death

wandering in the elemental space half-insane
trying to find its way through a myriad of bright stars
as if feebleness, atrophy had rotten its fading brain
as if it wore a crisscross of scars

while its colour was a kind of pale
thinly covered by a cloud’s veil.

[Reference: “The waning moon” by Percy Bysshe Shelley.]