You, white and softened marble of the night,
are in a calming sky of cotton blue:
for what is it we use the firelight?
The only brilliance I require is you.
The stars are not so useful, not so rare,
for you presented first the mirrored glass,
and you continue on whether you care
about us, who have lives as short as grass.
If there is something beautiful and strong,
salvation might be possible for Earth.
Destruction in the fire does you wrong.
Who is it dares to undermine your worth?
Oh, moon of whitest stone in fabric sky,
why must the fire dazzle in my eye?
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