May 2012
The moon falls lower, the night almost at an end.
It does not cry for fear of shaking the water's surface.
It does not shine its light upon the grass, in fear of seeing its face.
It does not breathe, in fear of scaring the wind.
It hides. It runs.
In fear of the sun it can not be.
It does not cry for fear of shaking the water's surface.
It does not shine its light upon the grass, in fear of seeing its face.
It does not breathe, in fear of scaring the wind.
It hides. It runs.
In fear of the sun it can not be.
My friend Dustin wrote this. He doesn't think he can write so I challenged him with the words Sun, Moon, Grass, Wind and Water. He created the word gold.
