-- Snow Moon --

By John Herlihy

Do we think we see at night only one moon?

What of the faces of all those other moons?

Whether shining half, full, crescent or sickle,

The moon gives every sense of being fickle.

Indian Summer moon with its crimson face,

Climbing up the horizon from a distant place.

Blushing in modesty in this extended season,

Slowing autumn’s arrival as a kind of treason.

When autumn arrives, the moon changes face;

Harsh red blends to orange with celestial grace.

We gaze on autumn’s moon just standing still;

The heart pounding as the moon steals our will.

The old man in the moon lets us never forget,

All the loving memories we cling to with regret.

The ruined face of the moon wracked with scars,

Its borrowed light overwhelms the twinkling stars.

The ghost moon impersonates the ghouls of night;

Its eerie presence whispers secrets that give fright.

Beneath the ghost moon, shadow mysteries inspire,

A dream that smolders in the heart as burning fire.

The crescent moon symbolizes an emergent power;

Whether waxing or waning, it surges hour by hour.

At sunset, a sickle moon seems to die a slow death;

At dawn, the sickle rises again with increasing heft.

The full snow moon in the darkness a brilliant hole,

Lending an inner light the night from the day stole.

Ah, the beloved moon close to touch, made of snow,

Shining down peace upon earth with its sacred glow.

For one sacred night, another world made possible,

The stars enlarged, the night lightened, magic visible.

I stand at a cliff edge, engrossed in this amazing night,

While the moon-drenched landscape reveals its insight.

In the silvery dawn, the snow moon took its final leave,

Leaving behind all the revelations it could ever conceive.

In the little mountain spring nearby, a cold trickle flowed;

Fresh waters from mountain snow its blessing bestowed.

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(c) John Herlihy 19 October 2018