She was always there, so beautiful and free. And she would sometimes gaze at me.
Apon a tree she sat staring at the moon. For so long and out drawn she would often swoon.
A small gracefull cat, her color was midnight black.
With dazzeling colorful eyes, as precious as the glowing night sky.
And then theres me, on the ledge. Swinging my legs over the edge.
I'd
watch this cat with admiration.
Everynight and every full moon.
Before i go to bed inside my small room.
On a old twisted tree staring always at the moon. But before i knew it i took her forgranted way too soon.
She didnt show up one elegant night, the one night where the stars were never ever so bright. The moon was the brightest it's ever been,  then after that i never saw her again.
The nights were never the same.
But i still watch the moon.
Waiting and hoping for her to return,  and hopefully soon.
But she never came.
Yet I dont give up hope, even if i have to wait til i croak.
I called her moony.
Not creative or great.
But it fit her in every indescribable way.
When you stare at the moon,  remember this tale.
Of the moon cat that used to come without fail.
And who knows, one day she may come back.
On the twisted tree, so once again I'd   gain the joy i now lack.