Some people, 
no matter what you give them,
still want the moon.

The bread, 
the salt, 
white meat and dark,
still hungry.

The marriage bed 
and the cradle,
still empty arms.

You give them land, 
their own earth under their feet,
still they take to the roads

And water: dig them the deepest well, 
still it’s not deep enough
to drink the moon from.