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Crescent moon

Crescent moon in all its shimmering glory,
silver rays that touch the soul and stills,
the birdsong laced within the lovers story,
so silent now, for muted are the trills.
The quiet touches me with gentle fingers,
that play the harp within my very soul,
pluck the memories, that will always linger,
and the pain, that soft words will not console.
Remembering, how, she so very gently,
from me, she slowly took her hand,
how she touched my cheek, so very softly,
and on the table placed her wedding band.
She lingered just a moment in the hallway,
then smiled such a soft and sad goodbye,
placed her keys on the shelf, by the doorway,
then slipped away as quiet as a sigh;