It was the moon who laughed and laughed.
Alone in silent reflection.
To the moon, all is
as the pretentious little stars
far away in the indigo night.
Yet she suspects that her own
magnificence is but
a simulation of their inner fire.
It is the moon who laughs and laughs.
This poem was written in response to a prompt from Miz Quickly who asked us to select a line from another poet’s work and use it as the first line in a poem of our own.
The first line of this poem is from Who by Wendy Videlock.