The full moon's disc shines over Mother Earth,
And her brow seems white with reflections,
But when the setting sun touches her
With an evening glow, she can still laugh gaily.
Then early mountain breeze brushes by
And sends its shivering leaves,
Dancing cheerily to the carpet of deadheads;
And you don't know yet
Whether the song of the falling leaves
Is the song of contagious laughter
Or of parting tears I shed to the bare ground.
I think you are on to something, Alex, in these last few days, when it comes to the moon. We try to come to grips with its mystery and its lure. That's the job of us poets. Well done with another moment of moontime.
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Sandie