First Night of the Full Moon

Well look at you, overdoing it again,
dropping the popular clouds—and going
with that glitzy stream to enchant the shore,
while you await the waves’ ovation.

At least the rocks ignore you. Retirees
with high assessments are trying out
showy modifiers behind sliding glass.
Writing classes are cashing in.

Sure the Bard himself penned exalted
adjectives more than a hundred times—
gracious, fruitless, blessed, gazing,
modest, mortal, fleeting, envious
. . .

but you remain one oblivious orb,
our preening globe rolling through
systems and centuries, still
reprising this gaudy entrance.