A little moon story

By Lyn Littlefield Hoopes,—USA

Did you ever see the new moon rise,
a sliver of white in the dark night sky?

Inside the sliver, did you ever see
the whole round moon hiding in shadow?

Did you see a little star,
just off the tip of the new moon,
bright as a splash of milk?

Did you wonder
if they might be friends?

Well, one night, the
little star whispered
to the moon,
“Moon?”

The moon was silent, as she so often is.

“Moon,” teased the little star, “you are a smile.”

The moon did not answer. She smiled.

“Moon,” the little star called,
a little louder. “Moon,
you are a snip of a fingernail.”

Still, the moon
did not answer.

“No, you are
an eyelash!”

The moon
was silent.

“Moon, you are
just a scrap of
a powder sugar cookie.
The very, very last
bit of a bite!”

“No!” said the
moon at last.
“No!”

“The rim of a
rowboat shell?”
whispered the
little star.

“No. No. No.
Not a bit or a bite,
or snip or a scrap or a rim!
I am big and
whole and round
and I am
hiding
myself.”

“You have a secret self?” asked the little star.

“A perfect secret self,” answered
the moon. “You just cannot see
all of who I am.”

“Me, too?” asked the little star.
“Do I have a secret me?
Does everyone?”

“Yes,” answered the moon,
nodding at the little star.
“The you God knows, the you God loves.
Your perfect secret you!”

And smiling down over all the sleepy heads
on earth, she nodded gently,
“And you, too ... and you ... yes, and you.”

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