The Moon is a messenger:
Lean into me, She says,
And I will whisper low to you
The secret of the Sun!
My shine is not my own.
In me, you have seen the Sun
And known Him not.
In me, you may see the Sun
Even after He has set.
Open wide, and this ever-molten silver
I will pour out
And spill into you
And make your sorrow a priceless thing!
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