The crescent lane

To be one upon which stars have shone,
heedless to either shreiks, or hum,
resting by the creek, when,
like a sleep the nights become!

With lone stars it wanders,
this, a vagabond soul
bewitched to sway,
aloft, along, and then away!

Yet,

of a buoyant soul,
the self remains,
gazing at the glitters
in a crescent lane!

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