American Princess

The European Night and the American Poetess

The European night is unfamiliar to this American poetess
In a way that she cannot define. The stars are brighter somehow
No matter, it is indeed divine. A lamp burns in her window
It is the star that beckons us home. It seems to smile. At what?

And the full fat moon is visible through the glass
And beyond this room yesterday calls once more
And the moon gloats
At the stars she overshadows
Like a brilliant big sister

Are the trees overwhelmed too?
Their fingers reach up, up, up to touch
Her dangling there for all to see
What a narcissistic show off she must be
That full all-effacing (rather fat, actually) moon.