The Pines

It is late.
The house is hushed.
My child sleeps her dreams.

Candle shine lightens the shadows in my room.

Moon tears drip silver through my window.

The Pines outside flaunt their stability.

I am like the moon.
You are like the Pines, steady and sure.

You are so far from my crying window
Holding up the far side of the moon.

Can you whisper your secrets through the trees,
And tell the moon to bring them to me?

I will listen until I know.

Then the Pines will make me strong while I sleep.

And the moon will cry alone.

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