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A poem about Marylyn Monroe

Marilyn Monroe was in the moon the other night,
for the first time in twenty years,
she was shining white,
three quarter profile, nose tipped up, eyes half closed and
lips pulled back in half smile.

How longs she's been there,
I've no idea,
it was over Georgian Bay she was first pointed out to me,
Another August night when the moon shone bright,
and she looked just as she looked the other night,
as she's always looked,
since that long ago night,
when she turned out the light,
when she said good night,

Alone in the night she's bathed in white,
alone in the sky
surrounded by stars,
look there's Venus,
look there's Mars.
Do they see her? do they know her?
do they care?
She's alone in the sky as the universe floats by.

It looks like she's happy,
up there by herself,
but who can be sure,
who can tell,
if someone's in heaven or someone's in hell

She never said,
she never complained,
when she was hurting
when she was pained,
so why would she now,
far away,
dead.

Always so bright,
somebody's light,
everybody's delight.
except maybe her own.
But now free to roam,
alone in her new home,
still shining for everybody else,

Maybe,
when over a sea, a lake or a puddle,
when she paints a field in blue and white shadows,
she sees,
how bright her light shines,
Maybe,
she bathes,
even a little,
in her own glow. 

With the approach of dawn
her light dims.
daylight is cruel,
a reminder of harsher realities,
an end to dreams,
to gentle lights,
to softness.

Marilyn Monroe was in the moon last night.