Twelve degrees high in a pre-twilight sky
Due South - a crescent New Moon
Hung as some person may hang
A lamp to light up a room
Not a paper moon - not a disk
Except for the blazing edge of it
Hung high as if with the clouds in the sky
This Moon is a world softly lit
Twelve degrees high in a pre-twilight sky
The atmosphere stretched to the stars
And the universe hinted at secrets unseen
While songbirds migrated to Mars
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