[Nell]: 226.Stories.Shorts.MoonStruck

Looking over the tropic ocean that evening, listening to the heave and wash of the waves, I remembered a poem that my mother had sung to me.

The glimmering gilt of the moonstruck shore,
The sparkles the waves left behind,
The stars that had fallen to sprinkle the sand,
The blue of the night when they'd shined.


Behind me, the golden light of chandeliers and clink of feasting comrades fell across my back, touching my hands which rested on the veranda's balustrade. Their happy chatter felt warm and spoke of dancing and laughter. But my shadowed half could feel the night, and I wished to play on the sterling shore.