Whispers Beneath the Waning Moon

In the gentle grip of night's caress,
Where the moon in her waning, softly does confess,
To the vast, velvet sky - her love, her distress,
The whispers float, in tender finesse.

Shadows dance in harmonious accord,
With the crickets' song, in unison, chorded.
The world, in slumber, peacefully moored,
Under the gaze of the heavens, applauded.

Leaves rustle, whispering secrets old,
Under the waning moon's silver-cold fold.
Mysteries of the night, boldly unfold,
As tales of solitude and dreams are told.

A tranquil moment, a silent plea,
For the beauty in shadows we seldom see.
The moon's soft whisper, a key,
To embracing the night, and its silent decree.