Is the moon blue?

It turns its pale face to us;

Who knows whom its thoughts turn to.

It cannot cry, but only sigh in dust,

With no light of its own. Gasps thinly,

Too insubstantial for decay or rust.

Does it have unspoken sorrow of its own?

So it can only appear at night

And sometimes disappear, all alone,

And find solace in the dark unknown.

The sun burns away its radiance by day,

But the moon can offer no light to behold.

Observed and left out in the cold,

It is chained to fate and bad fortune,

And by night, a ghoulish shadow of fiery gold.