The test confirmed,
She was now carrying a child.
As she looked at the night sky,
There was no moon to be seen.
So much like the child,
To whom she was the mother.
There, but nowhere to be seen.
The cries of a newborn,
Filled the rooms,
And the night sky too,
Had its own waxing crescent moon.
Filling the rooms with its laughter,
The child plays all day,
It has the strength to dispel all gloom,
But no wisdom to shoulder its family.
Turning to adolescence,
The child has been graced with a little wisdom,
But now, no wealth to support his family.
The first quarter moon is shining outside.
Waxing gibbous, and young adulthood,
Much like, with enthusiasm in abundance,
Starting to see in clarity, with more light as it shines.
The full moon, and middle age,
When there is all,
Power, wealth, knowledge and light,
Enthusiasm to continue,
To climb every ladder,
And scale every mountain.
The late middle age,
Is like the waning gibbous,
When strength and enthusiasm,
Wane like the moon's light,
But the knowledge and wisdom remain,
To guide the stargazers.
Comes the retirement,
When power is all gone,
But wisdom is still the friend,
Still need this old friend of the last quarter moon.
The old age,
So alike the waning crescent,
Full of wisdom,
Gained across its lifetime,
But no strength remains,
To walk much further.
Heading to their pyres, tombs and graves,
Light is all gone,
Only the unlit night sky remains,
The new moon hanging,
Invisible to the naked eyes.
Perhaps, after all, everyone ages,
So much alike,
All of us humans,
Much like the Moon.