Not From Chicago.

Moonstone

One transplanted entity
Rests within the earthly green.
The dirt surrounds
With organic brown
Under the sturdy oak tree.

Roots so strong and sturdy, still,
Reap the ground's fare at its will.
The form below
Of hard formed stone
Enacts her fate to fulfill.

Open, clear, and pure essence,
Neither native more present,
On the Earthly floor
Or in our home's core...
With moonstone comes and advent.

For lo a dry place before
Was our globe in years of yore.
And yet today,
We see in a way,
Ungrateful we all implore.

We lose sight of the making
For our true world unshaking.
Without moonstone,
No sunlight shone.
Throughout there's no mistaking

That moonstone is what brings life
And rarely ever brings strife
He built the foundation
For every worldly nation
And all of time's past wildlife.

And yet those who claim to love
compare themselves to white doves.
They detest moonstones
And dig up old bones.
They've faith in their lack thereof.

What we need is to give thanks
That moonstone always cranks
To give us life
And the world contrived
To fill it's streams to the banks.