To the Moon From Below

March 16, 2008
My mindless musings often follow
The uncertain path of the high-flying swallow
Beyond the ground that binds us to our fate
But when comes the morrows' sun, I find I am too late

Above our heads and atop the night
It circles us, too high for flight
I reach up my hands to the shining sphere
Hoping to console this fear

The presence of this ethereal glow
Is something that we've come to know
When the night has a light such as this
Then soon, our world, the sun cannot miss

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