I HATED YESTER'S MOON THING

Is it in good reasoning to hate the moon?

The crescent thing was around yesterday
Sitting uncomfortably
In the hazy
Heavens.

Was it not fed where it was
To show up
After such long
Waiting time?

In it's weakness
The thinnest of cirrus clouds
Prevented it
From stealing glances
Down below.

If I was born to follow Mohammed
I could not break from the fast
For such a mocking weakling
But worry like Ezeulu
For hard times ahead.

If I was not sharp
To throw my eyes above carelessly
She could have dodged me
As a nimbus drew by
To swallow it completely.

Where was it when Nightingale
Cried in the night
With no light
To shine its fly highway?

Am I not realising that you have become naughty
To do what you think is right for you
Getting lost for nights
And appearing weakly
As if you needed not?

I will however keep an eye on you tonight
Not to love
But to see
If you so good and tender
As people think you are.