Moon
© Nell M. Householder
The moon is like satin, flirting with the sea, but soon the burning sun will smother it's graceful gleams.
Fair mistress; throw your shadows down,
Like satin locks of raven black,
Brushing the bony shoulders of
The gnarled oak.
Gracefully floating across your
Endless black ballroom.
Gleam, distant maiden of the intangible deep,
And cast your bright glances over
The sullen sleepy hills.
Flirt with the sea, his glistening dark eyes,
And make jealous the firelight, as it
Whimpers and wavers and withers
In the dark corners of your stolen night.
For soon your enchantments will be scorched,
And your grammarye, singed.
And your star-dusted cloak will be smothered
With the cascading purple to yellow banners
Of the impatient one,
Torn down and blown beautifully aside,
By the breath
Of the wretched, heaving, burning sun.
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