A Poem for the Supermoon
The silver weaver, close and grand,
Pulls the tide within the land.
Not just the sea feels the fierce tug,
But silent sorrows, holding snug.
The heart, a hidden, lunar shore,
Gleams with all it held before.
Old desires rise, too bright to keep,
While secrets surface from the deep.
A moment's grace, a dazzling plea,
To simply feel and simply be.
For in that light, so vast and near,
We find the answers, clear and dear
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