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.