Carte Blanche

Up in the hovels of heaven,
up in the slums of the sky,
ten thousand little stars
huddle together.

The moon, decorous and stately,
is a tall lady,
who comes,
sometimes,
and smiles,
whispering words of comfort,
and dropping silver pennies into the outstretched
hands of the poor;
but she never lingers long,
she just comes,
sometimes.

—J.D.F.