The Moon

A poem By Claire Wong

Sometimes when I’m alone,

I wish I could kiss

the sorry September moon,

so She feels sorry no more.

When Debussy and his darling Clair

brewed a kaleidoscope of sentiment

in his fantasia for Her,

She still wept.

With Her crying crates

and her eternal darkness,

She cannot be consoled,

for the stars do shine bright,

but She lies in the sea of no light,

forever alone.