To the Moon...

I fly to the bow
Of the crescent moon
And swing in the cradle
Of her arms.

Silver grey and
Crooked crone,
She rocks me to
The music of the stars.

She opens a box
And holds out her hand
And I ponder - What
shall be locked away?

What holds me back?
What binds my wings?
Fear - fear of the unknown,
Fear of losing my way.

So I take it out,
Small shrivelled thing,
Quivering in my hand -
So small, all my fear.

She takes it from me
And drops it in the box.
It cowers in a corner
And just disappears.

``I will keep this safe,"
As she closed the box.
Then she tipped me out
And I fell like a stone.

But I laughed as I flew
Back down to earth,
For my wings were spread
And my fear was gone.