Oh, sweet Lunaria, 
are you lonely up there
in your home of white gold? 

Are you well? Are you warm,
wrapped in your gown, shining
with sapphire effulgence? 

What do you hide beneath
the constellation of
your surreptitious smile?

What do you conceal with
that rouge, that eyeshadow
that you dipped into the
shallows of Northern Lights?

Obscured scars left by tears
you were afraid to shed,
locked away in your heart,
kept far from the prying eyes
of someone such as I,
armed with my telescope,
bold dreams, and steadfast hope?

Oh, sweet Lunaria...
Gravity, my prison, holds me here, 
beneath the atmosphere. 

The air I breathe, 
too heavy for a
moonflower such as you
to flourish beneath.

And so I watch you from afar
like some radiant star
that fled across night skies,
searching for a place to
hide until the tears dried.