The moon
Rising from the mountains, from the earth into the sky,
tears of light fall slowly down upon us, as the moon begins to cry.
Alone within the night, no one with which to play,
of course there are the stars but they are far away.
Alone with the night, everyone has gone to sleep,
left the moon alone, alone to cry and weep.
Looking down upon us, comfort in the night,
someone looking over us, deliverance from our fright.
Even the moon gets lonely, begins to hurt inside,
tired of being alone, even the moon starts to hide.
It hides a little more each day, until it disappears,
the darkened moonless night strengthens all our fears.
But the moon is a beauteous thing, it soon returns with glory,
the birthing of the new moon, like the beginning of a new story.
The moon runs through it's cycle, from one end to the other,
from being a new born child, to a newly birthing mother.
Tis the moon that we respect, the moon that we adore,
the moon that drives us on, on to so much more.
No matter how big, how strong, or how bright,
even the is alone in the night.
2/15/93
fulgin