maybe it's not time [oldsht]

The Children are searching for the moon.

Someone speaks a hint of its glory,

and the Children cry:

“Brother moon, we cannot see as you hide

beyond the forest trees.

Please come out to play, that we may dance

in your glow and praise such an artist as He!”

This nights moon shall retire all to soon,

and the Children will traipse to bed,

(of course in a town where bedtimes come later than most)

they go, tired and unfulfilled from the nights misadventures.

In the morning such grey sweeps the land.

The Children are searching for the sun.

Someone whistles a tune of its melody,

And the Children cry:

“Sister sun, we cannot feel you as you hide

beyond the clouds.

Please come out to play, that we may

hear your bright lines and sing to such a

musician as He!”

The days sun shall not arise before the sullen sky,

however, unconvinced as Children can sometime be they resolve:

“Sister sun and Brother moon,

the animals are resting from their

chattering play. The flowers cower in their

buds and even the stars have dimmed their glows.

We too need a time of rest. When it is that you

both return from yours, we will rejoice, and sing

and dance as Children are meant to do.”