The Moon - Poem by Emma Atkinson
I look to the moon, inconstant that she is,
And ask her why I fell for the sun.
I ask her why she hasn't the curtesy to chase all thoughts of him away
When it is her shift that has begun.
I ask her why she simply watches,
And wonder if it is because she too is half in love with him,
And in the darkness, in the dim,
Through the looking-glass of my dreams,
If that is the only chance she will have to look upon his face,
When she is night and he is day,
And one is present while the other is away.
And in some small way I understand,
In some small way I pity her,
For I have seen the sun once,
And now my dreams are full of him,
But she, as she sits gazing in the sky,
With a smile much like my own,
She has only ever caught a glance.
With her round and ghostly eye.
Her hope is foolish as is mine,
When I have memory, but she is time,
And when I am gone, she will live on,
And dream of him until the dawn.
Comments about The Moon by Emma Atkinson
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- IfRudyard Kipling
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda
- TelevisionRoald Dahl