Help in analysing a startup-me poet and advise on where to improve.

THE NIGHT

Lying on my back one night,
Dew wetting my shirt,
Eyes and the heart,
Loyal to the skies in a gaze,

And then the dew went,
Leaving the wetness behind,
the shirt not wet anymore,
But soaked to the brim,

Before I could astonish to it,
I realized something odd,
My eyes were leaking,
Like my grandpa used to say,
The moon is an old mourning spirit,
A contagious old mourning spirit.

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