They told me the Moon is beautiful,
But I didn’t believe, and now they force me to look.

I fixed my gaze on that which they claim is most beautiful.

Confused, I turned back to them: “Why do you say it is beautiful?”

“Why not?” they asked.

Smiling, I answered, “How can something be pretty
If it doesn’t have eyes like hers, eyes that are an eternal prison to me?

How can it be beautiful if it lacks her smile,
A smile so radiant I forget my name every time I see it?

How can it be beautiful if it doesn’t resemble her?”

Laughing, they asked, “What does she look like?”

Smiling, I replied, “I do not remember.”