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Commander of the Night
Natasha, Age 14, San Diego, CA

The moon is a smudge of paint
in the painting of the sky.
Perhaps some careless deity was painting
upon the blank canvas of the universe,
his paintbrush dripping with magic,
his artistic powers splashing silver dots across the skies.
A droplet of white, pure against the charcoal night,
sealed with a tear from the goddess of the heavens.
The moon is a symbol of dreams,
a beacon of light to lost souls,
keeper of the stars.
A lost pearl, opalescent and perfect,
its shining face lying on the richly woven carpet of stars.
The moon is quiet,
a peaceful reminder of faith and hope;
a token of luck to wishful dreamers.
Lingering in the air,
a pinch of stardust,
suspended in the sky.
Gentle commander of the night.

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