There is one in every moon

In the false light of the moon
there is one in every reflection
In the fading light of twilight
the feeling comes on soon

Like little drops of silver
or the gentle drop of leaves
It comes at Autumn tither
when one comes to brereave

In a more starkly tonal light
in a deathly black and white
We see something of ourselves
How we have thus come to dwell

The drink is bitter and sweet
if you follow the correct street home
and if the path is narrow
with a past and a tomorrow

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