That Fateful Night

By Ruth Y. Nott
©2003


Even the moon got stuck in the mud on that stormy April night

When hail stones pelted Memphis and the flood was at its height,

When the Gods, in anger raging, took vengeance on the world

And lightning bolts electric were flying, tossed, and hurled.

Then, dancing on the corner in the eerie lightning’s light,

There came the shade of death into that fateful night.

Arising from the depths of hell, it did spin, and twist, and turn,

searching for its victim, anxious to see it burn!

It lifted feet of glowing coals and stomped upon the moon

which lay in muck and mire within the mud marooned.

“No longer will you light the path of lover, knave, or guard!”

The specter cried and kicked again, kicking really hard.

“Tonight you will be mine and buried far below,

No more to grace a poet’s page with your warm, romantic glow!”

With demon strength, he freed the moon and held it in his grasp.

He squeezed and squeezed ‘til the breath it took he knew would be its last.

Then he carelessly tossed the moon aside and danced off to find another.

But, had he bothered to look back, he’d have seen it gasp... and recover,

rising now, a piteous site, looking beaten, hurt, and sorry

As Death danced on far below unaware he’d lost his quarry!