Kyra Moon

I realized a problem with sharing poems from when I was 15-16. The poems are mostly just fine. If these were from when I was 9-10, we could laugh at how cute and silly I was. Instead we're left with poems that are not really bad nor particularly good, so I don't quite know how to react to them. But this one I'm okay with laughing at. It's almost good, and almost deep, but . . . oh boy. If you like it, great. If not, I don't blame you. Tis better to be loved than beautiful For though the two may sometimes seem the same Above the eyes, the heart is dutiful To that same soul to which you gave your name. Like earth's eroding rocks and melting caps, A woman's face will wrinkle and degrade. A love skin-deep would bear no more perhaps And then relinquish vows that had been made. Yet when the shining purity of soul Does bind each heart to heart beyond all age, A change in looks does not their love annul But simply moves the clutter from

As promised , I'm going to subject you all to a foray into my 15-year old mind via some poems I wrote back then. Today seemed like a good day to do it because it's a crisp, gorgeous first day of October. A whisper of the winter Lingers in the air, But only for a moment For we are not quite there. But then the whisper widens Into a sound of chill Its speaking scares the sun away Yet summer stays here still. I think this was probably supposed to have more stanzas where it got progressively colder, But I'm okay leaving it where it's at. We don't need to think about cold yet. And, while we're at it . . . here's one more autumn poem that you might not know. I found it in the 1836 LDS hymnbook, and I'm not sure who wrote it. Maybe Emma Smith herself? The sun that declines in the far western sky, Has roll'd o'er our heads till the summer's gone by; And hush'd are the notes of the warblers of spring That in the green bow'r did exultingly sing