Full moon arisen
under much derision.
Low in the Heavens
a sentiment beckons.
A prayer is reckoned;
a lame arrow shot.
With the speed it is moving,
through particles pushing
and pulling, and the whole
thing not starting or going
as smooth as it should,
it's not going to make it.
Orb naked in night,
in the sky full of night,
lend a drop
from a prick of an arrow
of the blood of the Heavens;
a prayer from a sparrow
aiming celestially,
again, at thy sights,
from terrestrially
falling.
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