Old Woman in the Moon

There's an old woman in the moon,
She's a lot like me
She cried so many tears
She filled the whole wide sea.

She's the mistress in the poet's song,
The gal who pined so long
Ain't nothing left but her face,
Nothing left but a trace.

Gray old woman with a sad smile,
She's a lot like me
Cried so many tears
She filled the whole wide sea.

She rests on the worn porch step,
a song croaking softly
in her throat with the velvet night
spread round her shoulders.
Reflected starlight streaming
from the old woman's gaze
fixed steadily on the rising moon.

Through all her phases and her faces
she is the comfort in our darkest nights,
mother to the night-going creatures
and the little ones tucked in their beds.

Renewing life–shaping earth with tides,
stirring storms, calling rain with silver haloes
on a summer's night, driving men mad with desire,
these are womanly pursuits.

Though her ancient face shows
scars from the scrapes left
by a few reckless
wandering stars, flawless

beauty fractured is no less beautiful
to those wandering in the dark.