There's Not Much Time

This waxing crescent moon is sinking on the western horizon,
And I have just a few more seconds to tell you about it,
You people of the future.

In my day, people drove cars to work and received direct deposits into their checking accounts,
But the moon, as far as I understand the situation,
Was as much the same for me as it is for you.

There it goes: Sliding beneath the tops of the trees, at the far end of the bean fields.
It's molten iron tip, disappearing somewhere over the Pacific,
Mesmerizing the Californians, perhaps.

But it is gone, now, so I suppose I will return to my living room,
Where I will watch a video on Netflix before I retire for the night,
And rested, begin another day to end in the same manner.

I hope this gives you some perspective.
We were here, too.
And it is not an altogether bad place to live,

For a while.