Moonlight’s Whisper

The Sun gives fire, the day made bright,
the Moon returns with borrowed light.
Silver glow that chills the skin,
a whisper of realms we’re hidden within.

Not warmth, but cool, not flame, but breath,
a glow that hints at life and death.
Is it a mirror, a lamp, a veil,
a crystal window, a spectral trail?

It does not grow, it does not burn,
its light is secret, it does not turn.
The moon light chills before it’s past,
The shadow cast can worm at last.

The Sun proclaims, the Moon confides,
a quiet signal from other sides.
Its silver breath dissolves the night,
a borrowed glow, a fading light …