Oh Mother Earth,
Be kind to Moon,
Lest he age and tire of you,
For his eyes are set on Venus
And her greener orbit there.
And if he should wander
And pull her tides,
He could create an atmosphere
And terraform her barren landscape wild.
And what then of us,
Dear Mother,
Children of the clay and surf,
Left as orphans
In an age of ice?
And Mother turned
And walked away,
Muttering under her howling winds,
“She can have him for all I care.”
-jenn long
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