Saturday, December 02, 2006

the moon itself

the moon itself glows mottled blank
and never needs our words to thank
the lights that shine so bright at night
to guide our steps from wrong to right

but honeyed hunting harvest moons
in cold novembers steaming junes
are only in our minds as tunes
singing old delusional runes

when we look up and see it gleam
its meaning is only in our dream

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