When you wish upon a moon
A four-leaf clover for a block of cheese
Wenbo Wu–The Tech
When I was young, I used to dream of a little boy on the moon. And when he’d dream, he’d hope and wish that dreams didn’t end so soon. He’d walk a little crater and sing a little greater of another on earthen ground. “Oh how nice it must be, how calm and at peace, it must be to finally be found!”
The boy often wished upon a star, the only one he knew. His turning world phased him none, though oft he caught the blues. In the dark he’d ponder away, unknowing of his worth. He’d wish that there would come a day when his star would face him north.
He wandered searching, looking for something, oh what a lonely sight! He’d call out forever into the darkness and far into the night. The darkness followed, and he encircled, he put on quite a chase! He once caught his shadow, but it slipped from his fingers, before it flew away.
He could hardly be real, not seeing himself, in palms or on the floor. He used to pine for a wizard or elf, to lift him from this chore. He’d stand, then fall, then rise again, in his task to chase the light. For the darkness loomed above his head, and filled him quite with fright.
I paced like him as nomads do, from Dallas to New York. I questioned him with longing eyes, “For whom do you fall short?” I calmed my dreams with poetry, yet lingered on the words. I placate minds in twos or threes, and hummed between the chords.
Like the phases of the moon, my heartstrings waxed and waned. How I yearned to keep it full, to leave pain sick with vain! The shadow glued to my figure ran, as I fled the darkened street. I tossed and turned and wept again, all within my sheets.
But came a day when I converged, upon happy happenstance, a field of dreams from a movie scene enraptured in a trance. I sat me down and beside me found the prettiest path of ground, and upon inspection discovered confections of the clover most prettily profound.
Its quadruplicate leaves left me no longer bereaved, for luck saw someone too. I looked into his very eyes, and thus proclaimed it true. The boy on the moon awoke with a start, and in his heart a fire grew. Beside him bloomed a silent companion, maybe he’s like me too.
Thus hands were held and natures felt in many exclaims of glee. Reality’s reprieve from depths of dreams is that it’s not temporary. In six months felt, in six months past, the moon had danced thus forth. Even in the umbra of the newest moon, I’d know its joy henceforth.
So I ask of dreams, and dreamers alike, to raise a glass tonight. I hope you sleep well, and I hope you stay strong, for the love that’ll come to light. And I hope when you look up, you’ll see what I see, perhaps someone dreaming too. And them not so lonely, with their company, and a marvelous breathtaking view.