WidowNight

The moon hangs high
in the western sky
like a pearl broach
pinned delicately onto the 
front of a velvet
mourning coat worn by
widows at the cemetery 
slowly slipping behind the 
mountains like the hugs
of attending well wishers 
and will in a 
few hours be replaced 
by the sparkling pendant 
of the sun as
the widow night takes 
her leave and abandons
her misery for day
hoping for something better