Night after night, the moon hangs--
bleak bleached and bare-- in the sky.
What is it you want? Why does it sit and
stare with its eyes hollow and piercing?
Exploiting the mystery and
peace of the night.
Borrowed light glares down at the midnight scenery:
dew specked lawn, green smelling trees, sleeping flowers.

Night after night, the child sits alone,
innocent and chilled to the bone.
What is he thinking, when he is
out in the biting night, with no coat on?
Watching me up here in the lonely sky.
I wish I could comfort him--
like a nightlight--
and his way could be lit by my beams.