You rise
A cloud-veiled apparition
Over slumbering mountain peaks.
The night
Is still warm enough
To allow me
To watch you
From the comfort
Of my porch swing
And to listen to
The nocturnal creatures
That inhabit my farm.
As if on cue
A coyote yips
An answer to
The hoo-hooing
Of a great horned owl,
Then I hear
The gentle lowing
Of one of the cattle
Bedded down
In our front pasture
And the far off baying
Of a hound, obviously
On the trail
Of some unfortunate critter.
I look back at you,
O harvest moon,
And see not
The proverbial man-in-the-moon,
But a genteel lady
With head bowed gracefully
As if to look down
Upon the earth.
You are easily
The loveliest thing
In the sky tonight
As you slip from behind
Your veil of clouds
And shine your benevolent light
Upon us.