The Moon Speaks Poem by Sheena Blackhall

I sometimes wish the earthling had not come.
When he first landed, I did not like him at all.
He reassured me he only wished to explore
With the minimum of disturbance.
Then you see, I began to grow accustomed
To his presence.

Until I felt his foot on my cracked surface
I had not realized my limits nor my vastness
I had not known what sharing was about.

Even in silence, I felt his cupped breathing
Gently fluttering in one of my many craters
I learned to withdraw my rays to let him rest.

But he should have said... it was cruel, cruel, not to
That earthlings wither quickly, a moment's warmth.
Now I endure, as I have always endured
Staring into the eyes of the terrible stars
Watching the earth for signs of a second coming.