underage

Underage  A moonbeam sat on a bough just outside my bedroom window. The beam was of the shy sort, and it didn’t frolic about in the forest during the happy hour. I invited it, in the moonbeam was cold; I tucked it in a blanket, careful that there was no physical contact us the beam was of tender age; one must take care lest the Guardian Harridans find it nasty and demand a hanging party; no more playing football or forever being an outcast, lest I repent.  Children and moonbeams like stories, and I told a few before the moon paled, and I sent the little moonbeam on its way untouched by human hands.