The Mountain and the Moon

Oh dearest Diana, your pale moonlight
Filters through leaves from your place on high
To awake the machine, its rusted gears excite
Towards you it climbs, though it knows not why

Charging forth, ancient joints creak and sigh
No closer you grow, yet there is further to rise
Through forest and field, where a mountain scrapes the sky
As surely you wane, the harder it drives

In a frenzy of sparks, it chases your prize
Tearing forth though inner gears grind
Ever you dim, shining half your size
Its sprockets fly loose - a trail of rust behind

Lost in the hills, this little machine dwined
A steady disintegration it cannot sustain
Yet of your sweet moonlight, a sliver remind:
How high it has risen above the plain

Clambering forth, its final fumes drain
As it mounts a summit submerged in night
This errand an error, there is not to attain
Yet peaceful, it sleeps ‘neath soft starlight

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