Spring moon of fostered strife, you shine above
With past sorrows height. April moon, my love,
How quickly you fly across skies foredoomed,
Since, seasons mean little but sweet perfume.

Rebirth moon, glowing slight, you seem too pale
To revitalize a world. April Moon,
I welcome you -- it seems to no avail,
Your scattered face belies coming monsoon.

Fragrant moon of fantasy, you smile
As you eviscerate passing life’s hues;
Rife with assassin’s knife, too in-febrile
Becomes your powering placement of view.

April moon of withering might, forget
Not your promise to Earth; your friendship-debt.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 4/12/06