The full moon of November
is
away
above the clouds.
Thin fingers
of
trees
scratch
the
sky
as
roots dig
deep
in
beds of fallen
blooms,
leafs,
flowers.
All the roses
silent.
Yet rage
in the
change of seasons.
Soft as the rains
that
shall soon
be
snow.
In the light of
the
Moon of November
Muted
never silent.
And on the
other side
of
the
moon.
Ever shine on.
As ever be well, with love, Stephen Craig Rowe
3 comments:
Ms. B was tired today and only worked three hours. Ms. B just wasn't in the mood. Ms. B sighed inside, while outside she smiled and made bright eyes and bright "good mornings!" But ms b wanted to go home and was glad when it was time.
Ms. b thinks your poetry is stunning.
Where I live, in southern Ontario, the winds have already raged and the soft rains have already turned to snow.
If you'd like some I can probably arrange it. We have plenty to spare.
Excellent poem, by the way.
Dear Stephen, true we are in a special way like friends for some years now. though we are living so far and speaking with big gaps and space between the words and times i know it for true that we have "this" communication of words, and also silence between them.
moon
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