The Moon’s Eye.

I cannot emulate the moon’s eye.
Does a butterfly fly gadfly free giddily
In a garden of ephemeral liberty
Or timidly in doubt & fear draw nigh
In crooked uncertainty? Perhaps her
Eye is as the Jean Auguste’s Angelica,

Not denying flagellation from her sire,
Her face askance more in mercy at her
Own birth that does not weep nor devour
Her children nor pity them their desire.
I cannot emulate the moon’s eye,
I am as ephemeral as a butterfly,
Timid in a garden of doubt & fear.
O moon’s eye, in whose eye is the tear?

Copyright Robin Ouzman Hislop 2003
All rights reserved The Moon's Eye