Pale Sister

The moon is grim and sly, and keeps

Pale secrets from her twin.

She hides the darkest of her blushes

Behind a slivered grin.

Her greater, fertile, sister earth,

Greater in girth, not age,

Knows a pallid, pock-marked cheek

But not a shaded rage.

A barren spinster, gray from birth,

Can scarcely bear to see

From callous sister such a show

Of broad fecundity.