Photo by Martin Jameson

If I were a moon, any one of them,
I’d be distressed
At all this talk about waxing and waning.

First off because I don’t know what they mean.
Those dictionary!

I’m alway the same
Never smaller or larger.
Except after the holidays when I should try to
Lose a few tons,
Clean out my craters.

But those humans, their perspective
is wrong.
From where they stand
earthbound and all
This Dark Age idea speaks of their superstition
Not my bulk.

I can live with unfounded folly
And the humor of all that.

But one thing I do know for sure,
I am a reason for being, destined.

When sad angels die
They need a place to go,
A reward for bearing and harboring,
Protecting human kind from woe.

Their choices are endless
Seasides, mountaintops, sandy expanses,
Yet in wild chorus, and unending
They come to one of me.

I greet they joyfully, we sing together
For without me, they’d have no home.
Without them
I’d wane away.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia