Richard Betts (December 8,1964 / Philadelphia, PA)
If the moon and the sun waged a war,
Who would win? The moon, I'm sure.
The sun would fight face to face,
Making sure everything was proper and in its place.
The sun would often stop and double check,
Just to make certain he was politically correct.
While the sun was being fair and safe,
The moon was off in a darkened place.
In the night, the moon slipped around
And hid behind the sun somehow.
The evening ended and the sun awoke.
He rose quickly as the morning broke.
The sun searched but could not find the moon,
And the sun was happy the war had ended so soon.
When the day turned dark and dark turned black,
The moon stabbed the sun in his well-meaning back.
Comments about this poem (Correct? by Richard Betts )
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