Sara Teasdale

(August 8, 1884 – January 29, 1933 / Missouri / United States)

The Kind Moon - Poem by Sara Teasdale

I think the moon is very kind
To take such trouble just for me.
He came along with me from home
To keep me company.

He went as fast as I could run;
I wonder how he crossed the sky?
I'm sure he hasn't legs and feet
Or any wings to fly.

Yet here he is above their roof;
Perhaps he thinks it isn't right
For me to go so far alone,
Tho' mother said I might.


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Read poems about / on: moon, mother, home, alone, sky, running



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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