The Moon
There is a story seldom told
No adventure, love, or gold
A morose boy of pale woe
To be bereaved is all he knows
He liked to gaze the sun sometimes
But remembers all that’s bright must blind
So the boy with his want of vision
Befriends the moon and midnight remission.
It was like himself with no light of it’s own,
A companion of dreams to a boy all alone.
He dreamed of one day becoming a sage
accepting his story would be just this one page.
He died an old man with little to show
In his final moments he bade me to write him a note
One last breath to share his life’s find,
He said, “the moon and it’s friends are all intertwined.”