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Daughter Moon
One second away
(I've measured the echoes)
The moon gazes down diffidently
From just beyond our grasp,
The adolescent daughter we love,
But can no longer touch.
Twelve degrees per day
She slowly twirls above us.
Fifteen degrees per hour
We spin incessantly below.
We dance in step on occasion,
But only briefly.
We will return
To touch her again
When she lets us.
Perhaps to stay longer this time.
We will be much older then
But no wiser.
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Copyright © H. Paul Shuch, Ph.D.; Maintained by Microcomm this page last updated 14 June 2007 |
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