The Moon.

The moon is bright in a sky of midnight blue,
and I can hear the howling of a wolf – and wind, too.
I walk onto the dark porch and hear the trees sigh,
and I lean down and stroke my dog lying nearby.
The grass is not trimmed, it moves in the breeze,
Somewhere in the house I hear my sister sneeze.
The porch light is broken, but the moon seems enough,
And the flying leaves prove the wind isn’t that rough.
I look up at the moon and hear the wolf’s lament,
Then squeeze my eyes shut and take in the firmament.
I wrap my arms around me in a warm embrace;
And let the moonlight and shadows play on my face.

My dog leans up and nudges my knee,
As if to ask me what thoughts I see.
I look down and gaze into her gentle soft eyes,
And think of telling her a few white lies.
Then I smile and, leaning close, whisper in her ear,
“Tonight the moon tells me I am not to fear.”
“Fear?” She cocks her large head at me,
“Oh never mind,” I chastise her, albeit fondly.

I look back at the moon and some clouds have her now,
I wait till I see her again with some stars on her brow,
I turn half not wanting to – and thank her with a smile,
For easing some of life’s worries for just a little while.

10th April

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