The birds fall silent for a moment soon broken by the chittering of some tiny fledgeling. The moon beams eagerly, brightly toward the eastern prospect, seeming to need to expect, she leans from the edge of her seat. Our Queen blushes and maintains a subtle modesty appropriate to Her oriental origin. Still the birds are still, quietly and slowly comes the day. Only one very young cloud is excitedly loud in its front row perch.
Morning winks and smiles sweetly.
Silently She slips into the passion of Her climax. Moon draws her veil and sighs. We too should avert our gaze.