The dark velvety night
Births every day,
A new world
Filled with all the light
She fought to keep,
To nurture
Her next of kin —
The birthed morrow —
Filled with more sorrow
Than the night’s ungrateful child
Upon which she last oozed her light.
Poor, was the dark night,
Devoid of light and sheen;
With her meagre diet of stardust
And a little dose of moonshine,
Nurturing over and over,
Hoping for a more grateful lover,
A miracle child
She can keep forever.
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