The Moon

How must it feel to always float

to hide up there where no one reaches;

to be sorrounded by that blue coat,

to hang right next to sandy beaches.

Up there with all the stars,

no one to reprimand you.

Up there so high so far,

but no one to ever talk to.

I wonder if its good or bad

to always be so lonely.

I wonder if you're ever glad

to be the one and only.