I look to the moon, my pen ready.
Nothing comes, the urge, the pain,
Help! The moon laughs, ridicules
my thoughts. This moon, subject of
the great poets of yore, demeans
and discourages my efforts. I turn
to my heart, full with words and feeling.
Where have you been it asks.
I’ve been to the moon I answer.
And, what did you find it asks?
Nothing, I answer. My words are
your words it says. No need to look
elsewhere. Always from my heart...