Mother Moon

The current forecast: Sleet with snow...

Yet to the mountains we must go

With hopes there be a warming trend

Lest scurryin’ it may well send

Me and me posse, blue with cold

No, but it shan’t be

A thousand times No.

For MY forecast reads differently

Despite what I’ve been hearin’…

For t’is my favorite time of year

And I will not be fearin’…

Yes, t’is my favorite time of year

When usually the skies are clear

And colors burst in chaotic scene

With air so crisp and sharp and clean…

There’s pumpkins waitin’ to be carved

There’s eggs to fry and books to read

Logs to cut and fires to stoke

And music, wine and the Lord’s sweet weed.

Poems to write, and stories, too…

Dogs to walk and my Shellfish Stew…

There are Runes to read, (always so wise…)

There’s Mother Moon piercing black velvet skies

There’s talking with my good, fine man

Late into the night

And waking in each other’s arms

In the cold, pink morning light.

Beauty can be fleeting, yes

But not if it is true.

Yes, to the mountain we must go –

And I wish the same

For You.

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