Would you believe me
If I said
That the moon was afraid
And wanted to hide her flaws?
While we lay here
With our telescopes and astronauts,
She tried her best
To cover herself with clouds
So we
Don’t notice
And
Can’t see
Her craters
Which she calls “blemishes,”
But we call “freckles.”
Perhaps,
One day the moon will see her beauty
Reflecting back at her
In a once dark lake
Now illuminated with light.