Lately the moon has been wondering:
Does it take its brief life seriously enough?
Sometimes it thinks it casts
Its light carelessly,
Does not bother to look closely
At its surroundings,
Takes little account of its
Long and now, sadly, routine
Relationship with Earth.
Realizes that it has been proceeding
automatically, with little thought for tides
And their consequences.
It senses that it has been only dimly aware
of inspiring 10,000 poems,
10,000 love songs,10,000 suicides.
These not easy things to ponder;
Doing so goes against long habit.
Things have changed
Since it was a young moon.
Behind its back the stars
Have held grand council,
Have gotten organized; and even
The planets are now quite accomplished.
The moon waxes and wanes,
An old familiar habit become
A predictable rut. And then, this morning,
Unexpectedly, come questions: What is there
To depend upon? Where do you want
To go? Do have a vision,
Any vision at all, for what you
Might become? Does the word “you”
Have any meaning, and if it does,
What is its significance? The moon thinks:
I must give these questions the
Attention they deserve.
Another night Approaches.
What are you waiting for?
- - Amos Clifford