underage

Underage
A moonbeam sat on a bough just outside my bedroom
window, it as of the shy sort and it didn’t frolic about
in the forest during the happy hour.
I invited it in, the moonbeam was cold I tucked  it in
a blanket, careful that there was no physical contact
between us, the beam was of a tender age one ought
to be careful lest the “Guardian Harridans” find it
nasty and demand a hanging party; no more playing of
football and forever be and outcast less I repented.
Children and moonbeams like stories and I told a few
before the moon paled and I sent the little moonbeam
on its way...untouched by human hands.