November Moon Poem by Jan Bloomstein
November Moon
A white moon, halved,
Touches frozen fields with
Pale hands
Ghost fingers curl around
Felled stocks
To raise them up again
Wick and green
Once
But now stale and rough
Rustling with wind
And voles
Running,
Running for cover
From the pale moon's
Half light.
Thursday, June 22, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: nature
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5/4/2024 3:03:29 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Write comment. Nature's power is self-evident. Thanks