What if I told you moons two were beheld
that glimmered and shone like those diamonds mined?
I ween the halcyon days you’d call to mind
when we spoke of the sky, stars, acts withheld.
My heart tells me that your grit is now felled,
for you have lost faith in the endless kind;
So will you now mouth what you trow you’d find
by looking for what’s lost in past now quelled?
Ten thousand hours of ours are one for them,
so you’re born to die hundreds of times, mate;
Remember they’d try quite hard to us hem
if we pursued paths that by hate might stem.
No point then calling it your sad, dreadful fate;
The moons have shared a secret: They’d not us contemn.