The Moon
The moon, so like an apple across the night does fly.
It fills me so with wonder, it often makes me cry.
The same eternal changes viewed by all before.
The wonderous, mysterious pressence viewed on every shore.
Can we ever imagine the sense of curiousity and amazing awe.
Those first men must have felt when her path they nightly saw.
Huddled by their fires with no thought but their survival.
Then the glowing questions thrust on them by her nightly arrival.
What can it mean, what did they think as tomorrow loomed so fierce.
Was that the moment in humanity when creativity their hearts did pierce.
Was it the time of waxing, first poem found it’s refrain.
Brought forth by this gentle light, and born in their brain.
Was she the glowing goddess from which they took their reference?
Was she the glowing goddess from which humans found their difference?
We will never know if this conjecture is how it chanced to be.
However, I like to think it possible because of what she means to me.
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