To stare at the ground and wonder when,
To prance about looking for the wring'd necks of wrens,
To die, but wake a next day,
‘Twas how the Hellcat lived,
Up in the mountain garden,
All alone,
His face broken.
He sings each day,
Until final light,
When he drowns with a bray.
The tears streaked from eye to lilac sodden ground,
Where he curls into a ball,
Skin wrinkled,
Grey hair falls.

Mother Moon’s light comforts her child.
She bid the tears away,
Strong-willed, she watches his soul sway,
Her hand extended, catching light,
Warm, kind, soft it felt in her hand,
She smiled, tears well, swallowing fright,
The soul entered his mouth, when her hand came hither,
The light returned to her child’s face,
Very bright, growing, without fear,
Too bright even for her.
Mother Moon took flight,
Not looking back, hearing baby’s first laugh,
Good, true songs of night.
She sat in the dark clouds,
Resting, awaiting the morrow,
Waiting for his tears, his songs, his death, all dreadful sorrows.
                                                        ­                                             -**Firefly