-- Moody Marshland --

John Herlihy

The moon knew nothing of swamp mud,

All slime and sledge in the oily darkness.

The creamy light of a three-quarter moon,

Spraying borrowed light into the shadows.

The light chose a path thru the marsh ferns,

The shadows lay randomly as poetic rhymes.

In the distance, murky marsh meets the sky,

The moon pulled naked from placid waters.

With no care, moving limb by limb thru oaks,

Slick slime of the marsh shines intense light.

Hundreds of fireflies dotted murky marshland,

Their lanterns aglow in the darkness of night.

The pale wings of mayflies fan the moon mud,

The soft air fell as silk waves across the waters.

Now risen, moonlight unfolded its white fan,

Its borrowed light fills shadows with mystery.

A lone heron, with the patience of the universe,

Standing on one leg, on the watch and waiting.

Like us all, for nothing, something, everything.

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Copyright © John Herlihy

Tuesday 9 March 2021