Luna-tic

Amidst the speckles of stars,
Waxing to the rise and Waning to the ebb of tide;
Such is the satellite that orbit around the night,
Reflecting all the light, but heart as cold as ice.

Moon, Immaculate thy hone.
If I hear, am I a complacent loon?
I reverie and incite, cut a caper to your wile
Like a Shriveled and Captivated trawler to the argentine.