Woman Of The Moon Poem by Stephen Holcombe

From up above she reaches down, reaching for him at his lowest, not a smile but a frown. Hello, to an old friend she whispered, you silly clown. Lost in his thoughts and drowning in sorrows he reaches for her light. Help me, guide me; I'm lost in this lonely town. She pulls him up, dusts him off, a smile she demanded in time you'll come around. I can't, he cried you will she whispered. Maybe not right now but soon, thanks to the woman of the moon.