Mother moon, your light precedes you.
Skirting through the City to keep you
Bobbing in sight above the towers.
Stop winking at me, you tease.
The street lamps eyes are narrowing in
envy.
And I know. You’re looking increasingly
beautiful
Especially tonight. And what you’re telling
me
Smiling bright and wondrous, (Northern
accent):
“You’re gonna be alright, lass.”
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