Eight of Spades

Her cycle of phases
are eight
Two crescents
Two halves
Twice full
Twice empty of hate
Her careless
roundabout turns
Deep scars burn on a plate

The goddess of night
Joins in the make
A shadowy figure will bless
Give man a leisurely fate
She shews care
To men who are still awake

Night makes a path
to a weary soldier
With god,
he finally has sake
These spectres
can shew much older
An ancient birth
they can make

At daybreak,
they know it is over
The night-goddess fell far
Gods of indulgence
now sober
Now blinding, the bright morning star