Chimes

Eighteen

Nora Cawley
The moon doth shine but with a paler face
Then our dear sun, the conqueror of night.
Her strange silver beauty won’t win the race.
His power destroys her cold languid light.
It is here in the minutes before dawn
That I sit and watch as the nighttime dies.
In Aurora’s beauty I am then gone
Gazing dreamily to the morning skies.
I stare at the last stars that night has spun
Straining my eyes as they all fade away.
All that remains is the bright orange sun
The fiery, vengeful lord of the day.
But then again comes the brilliant moon
To prove once more from the sun she’s immune.