The Moon
How must it feel to always float
to hide up there where no one reaches;
to be sorrounded by that blue coat,
to hang right next to sandy beaches.
Up there with all the stars,
no one to reprimand you.
Up there so high so far,
but no one to ever talk to.
I wonder if its good or bad
to always be so lonely.
I wonder if you're ever glad
to be the one and only.