by Banky

The Moon It creeps deep in my heart
I feel it in His sanctuary
I see it in the mother hen
As it protects its chick
From the enemies’ assault.
It stares me in the face
When I open my window every morning.

I catch a glimpse of it
As the moon goes down each evening
It is always there; though
Few get to discern it.
We show it to a new born
Almost without knowing
One name it has
Several meaning it abhors
Nothing can change its stand:
I call it love. 

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