Moonlight in a jar 

I had the moonlight in a jar.

I hid the moonlight in a jar.

Sacred, safe, all to myself.

I hoarded it in pints

With its brilliant glow

Saving for the dark nights.
The moon was imperfect in form, shape;

It was less not in spirit.

The larger it grew in sight,

The clearer were its blots

The sharper was its shine.
The glistening sea reflected it,

The soil absorbed it whole.

While I, in all its splendor,

For a comfort to my meekness

imprisoned it in a jar.
Once, in my naivete,

Against a clouded night sky,

I stumbled upon my dependent plight

I cursed in my ignorance

Till I found a new light:
The new moon nights were designed

So I could learn to trust

My instincts in the dark;

And I freed the moon’s borrowed light

From the glass jar.

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