Upon the night’s soft canvas, hung, A moon, aglow, yet partly wrung. Its face, a mirror, soft yet scarred, Like youth’s own heart—both near and far. Cratered tales, in silence told, Of dreams that faltered, once so bold. Yet still it shines with steadfast grace, A beacon in the darkened space. Much like the youth, it waxes bright, With hope that swells and floods the night, Then wanes, as doubts begin to rise, A shadow 'cross the starry skies. But in its glow, a lesson gleams— That light endures beyond the seams. Youth may stumble, hearts may break, But in the dark, new dreams awake. A tender silver, soft yet true, The moon reflects the pulse of youth— Resilient, rising, yet serene, The cycle of the world unseen. This compares the waxing and waning of the moon to the fluctuations of youth—hopeful and resilient, yet filled with challenges and growth.
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