There once was a little girl, who wrote a little poem, about a moon that wasn’t there. Her teacher had asked her class to look at the evening sky and write a poem about the full moon that would light the sky that night. Little Hanna, was a very good girl. She intended to do just what her teacher had asked her to do. She waited ‘till dark, then she went out to see what she could see.
She saw a dark grey sky. She looked about from this side to that side. She still couldn’t see anything except a dark grey sky. Where was the moon? What could she do? She wrote this poem:
My Moon
The sky was dark tonight
No moon to be a light
Black and peaceful
Only stars to be bright
My moon is stealthy
Hidden in shadows of night sky
My moon is dressed in black
Not visible for now
I know my moon is there
But I can not see it
My moon is present
Invisible for a night
New moon is my moon
For only for one night
By: Hannah Smith
Hannah sent her poem to me, along with three others.
Dear Uncle Ken,
Aunt Joyce has inspired me to write my poetry, and I heard you wanted to read it. I’ve only written four poems so far, so I hope you enjoy them all. My Mom tells me that my poetry is similar to Aunt Joyce’s. I smile every time she says it.
We both think that even though we are not related by blood to Aunt Joyce she is a part of us all. My Mom says that I am very much like her. I hope that you love my poetry.
Love, Hannah Smith
Did this bring tears to my eyes? Of course it did.
All of Hanna’s four poems were a lot like Joyce’s poems; simple, sincere, and direct, while at the same time, clearly incisive. There is something ironically mature about the, playful, yet clear-headed way Hannah looks at the world.
Hannah has her own gentle strategy for doing what U. S. Marines demand of their troops when expectations fall short of reality: improvise, adapt, and overcome.
No Moon, no problem, I’ll just work around it to
a larger truth.
Very much like Joyce.
I’ve often counseled Hannah, “No matter how busy and successful you become, always remember to schedule some part of every day for play”. I realize my advice is probably unnecessary. Playfulness for Hannah is her natural state.
My dear sister, Rhonda, has three daughters: Chelsea, Moriah and Hannah. Each is special in their own unique way. They are all talented and charming. Each brings a blessing
to the world. I love them all.
I understand Hannah.
Hannah