They are demolishing the Paper Moon
Its thin walls were fragile, after all
Moving slowly to oblivion
The fatal touch of the wrecking ball.
Soon they will be stripped back to air
Leaving, merely, a residuum
A faint echo of our evenings there
Nights of moon-drenched delirium.
A smudged thumbprint of reflected light
All the time, she was haunting our skies
Like a shadowy ghost, vague and white
The begetter of our mysteries –
Occasions of revelry and song.
Happily, the real moon will go on
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