Moonrise On Southern Cross Poem by Vincent S. Coster

The yellow moon hung low
Over papier-mâché hills and
Cast it's benevolent glow
On the factories and homes
And the slick home bound motorcars

The birds sang their mellow songs
And said a cheery slán* to the dying day
To the sun
Now gone behind the Wicklow Mountains
While slowly stars began their dance
Glistening in the darkening sky
And in houses windows lit up
While halos formed on lamp lights
Beneath which lovers and lonely souls
Found solace in the deepening
Darkness of a chilly September evening.


*Slán is the Irish word for goodbye.