The moon whispered down to

an errant star,

There he is –

he’s looking for me.

The star nodded its head in

a knowing way.

The moon is no lady to cross,

her temper is vile and her powers are strong.

I see him, said the star,

he’s very handsome.

I know, said the moon and

seemed to glow brighter,

he comes every night to look at me.

The star watched and wondered

as the night deepened and

the winds grew still,

wondered what good could

ever come of it.

by Cher Bibler