Courtship

High above me sits the pale Moon,
Her beauty unwavering; her song a ray of bliss.
Unattainable is her purity to those who would use it for ill.

Her Gift is highly treasured. She guards it with her eyes.
It cannot be captured by fear.
Those who would attain it are shocked by unswerving zealousness.

I ask her why her light is hidden.
The white lady does not answer.
Instead, she draws a picture, writ clearly in the stars.

Then I see the answer! My heart fills with hope.
There is a Moon for every sky, its light for only one.
And so I wait for my Moon.