Insomnia

In myth we’re told the lunar rump
Never sees the light of sun,
The naked truth in consequence:
Backside graced by sunshine’s wake

Lack of solar illumination
Surely has its compensations,
A circling view of constellations
Is bound to inspire imaginations

Ah sweet noctilucent skies
Insomniac poet’s paradise,
Would to roam such perma-night
Liberate quill, impart its flight

In my fitful contemplations
I imagine galactic nations,
Shadowed e’er from native sun
Cheered by metaphor and pun

But in pondering planets thus
Blessed with pallid bards a’flush,
I cannot help but pause to wonder,
Uni-verse dark? How much the poorer,
For want of lark, bee, and buttercup?