
August Moon day 8 prompt:
I sat outside and told my secrets to the moon. This was her reply: ....
The sun was high in the sky when I rose
and yet cannot melt
tiaras into bullets
or bullets into bedpans
or bedpans into spades
nor coax fresh fruit
from smothered seeds.
Who are you to despair
at stones not turned
and leaves no longer new
when you stand but a step
and a hinge-life away
from a sky with different answers?

~pld
Thanks
Date: 2015-08-22 06:36 am (UTC)From:Re: Thanks
Date: 2015-08-23 03:09 am (UTC)From: