Purim pending

Dim rag of moon hangs in the East-most pines,
to photobleach as soon as it's bright day.
The tidal tug of both great orbs aligns
to lay seas bare as waters ebb away.
Adar impends! An end to many things;
next year, we pray our masks are just for fun.
For now, we play at princesses, and kings
a final fling sends off the year that's done.
Four New Years mark each circuit as we're twirled
'though "this shall be the first of months for you".
A constant as our history's unfurled;
the calendar's ordained, if you're a Jew.
Brief pre-dawn glimpse of sky, before it's gone
ferments in poets' brains like scraps of song.