CCXXXVIII: Clair de Lune for Ampan

She can’t know that this song is played for her,

can she? My first guess is it can’t be so.

But, say, say, if the kindest of acts were

to give when you can’t ever really know

if what you give is known—wouldn’t that be

the tenderest of things that you could do?

If good can be, would God not therefore see

that each intended good would follow through?

Ampan must know this song’s for her. Or that

there’s something lovely somewhere near, close by.

And if there’s fairness anywhere, forget

the kinds that would this gentle deed deny.

For God has made the sky. And see its hue.

There was no need to make it soft. Nor blue.