Seeeth thou ever the man in the moon?
Searched as a child with never the boon.
In the crescent? I asked. Harvest, or half?
You see him? They’d say, with a half heart-ed laugh.
For years I squinted at the sphere in the air.
Envisioned him at leisure in his rocking chair.
Or was he standing? Or, walking? Or riding a bike?
Soon gave up looking, still as a tyke.
Years passed quickly, ne’er had I seen.
Throughout my boyhood, on through the teens.
Probably they were jeering, of me making fun.
Or, could they really see him? Guess I’m the only one.
I gave up ever looking, a sight I’d never find.
Rarely looked above me, to the moon I was blind.
Grew to be a man, more important considerations.
Began listening to God —a lonely heart, my only oblation—
I grew much stronger, His love grew my faith.
Looking up to thank Him, and there it was—
His beautiful, love filled face.