I walked through the garden,
The moonlight reflected off the white snow.
The moon my only company in the harsh winter night.
"What troubles you my child?"
"Why am I different dear Moon?"
"So that you are special my child."
The next night I walked back to the garden,
Again seeking council with the moon.
"What troubles you my child?"
"Oh dear Moon, if I am special like you say,
Why are they so cruel to me?"
"They are jealous of your purity my child."
The snow had melted away by the time I came back to the moon.
"What troubles you my child?"
"Why do people leave me dear Moon??"
"People come and go, it is the natural order my child."
The leaves were orange and red,
Dancing in the light of the silver moon,
As I pondered in the garden.
"What troubles you my child?"
"Why is there death dear Moon?"
"All things must come to an end my child,
Nothing can last forever on Earth,
Death is just the passage to a new world."
It was over a year before I visited the moon again,
A snowy night just before the Holidays.
"What troubles you my child?"
"Why must this world ruin everything good dear Moon?"
"I do not know my child." The moon confessed to me.
"Goodbye dear Moon,
This is my last night in the garden.
I will miss you dear friend."
"No my child." The moon pleaded,
But I had my answer.
My blood mixed with the white snow,
Tainting it's white beauty.
Ruining it's purity,
Just as the world had killed mine.
