Hung The Moon

Happy pop song plays, as she sits on her bed, painting her nails.

She sings along quietly, thing of her love, thinking of summer coming.

My heart aches, with love and loss, as she goes out into the world.

Aches at the girl she once was, and the woman she is becoming.

I’ve been along for the ride, goofy uncle, solemn friend,

always there to make her smile, always there to offer a hand to hold.

The world goes on, it’s her oyster now, and I fall behind.

She is young and brave, and I find that I am getting old.

She sees me, waves and smiles, and I ask her when he’ll be here.

A light in her eyes, a ray of sunshine in her smile, “Very soon.”

I go downstairs, hoping he is the angel she believes, that all will be well.

I hope I’ll always be needed, that I’ll always be the one who hung the moon.

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