Barley moon
Monthly she turns up
Pale, spectral, forlorn
Ethereal in the twilight
Almost transparent
Despite her apparent fragility,
She is a solid body
Dancing across the night sky
The harvest moon
Mirrors the sun light
So much so under her cold glow
Farmers gather their harvest
The paddocks turn golden
With long tree shadows
Striating the erie silence
Dawn does try to snuff it out
By displaying a dirty greyness
All around the exhausted moon
No wonder she is so pale
In the morning glory of a new day.
Lucette C. Bailliet
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