This is the second poem in eight days about the moon. It might be because at this time of year I see this crescent rise right from my bedroom window. It’s quite a magical site to view while laying in bed. This poem was inspired by the quiet of the early morning before the birds and normal people awake. My window was open to let in some warm spring air and I was intrigued by the stillness and almost eerie silence. A poem was born then and there.