I sometimes look at the forlorn pale moon.
She cries tears of stardust, each for the sun.
Her sadness deepens and she will die soon,
for the sun cannot see the web he’s spun.
La Luna awaits her lover’s kisses.
El Sol drifts lazily through the blue sky,
unsuspecting of his longing misses.
I feel her beautiful pain and I cry.
How much longer must winsome Luna wait?
For whom does the oblivious Sol lust?
I know of no answer for either mate,
because I am placed on the earth’s crust.
No one will ever know about their love,
simply because it is never spoke of.