One of the advantages to being an early riser is the sun,
arriving as cymbals clash,
or violins soar.
Never very shy, the sun.

Not so the moon, who tries to creep away.

I spotted you, hiding in the fog. Show your face before you go..

Thank you. Now adieu Moon as the clatter of the week arrives. The trucks rumble by, the sheets need washing, the garbage needs collecting. Monday.

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

William Shakespeare, Macbeth