Not There Yet

I found The Lark Ascending
On the pages of my imagination
She was having a conversation with the moon
Of her struggles to capture the sunset

“It’s warmer there”, she said
With a hopeful lilt to her voice.
Moon chuckled with sentimentality
Its power, washing over Lark

“Why do you laugh Moon?
Am I to be pitied?”
“Oh no! No.
My dearest sweet Lark”

“I have captured the warmth of Sunset
Many, many times.
And each time after tiresome pursuit
Came to learn
That he is not as I dreamed
His warmth, fading and unreliable.

Sunset is vulnerable
Like you, like me.
Seek  him, yes.
Be his friend, yes.
What will you share with Sunset?
Lark? What will you share?”


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