Harvest Moon

And going back, my eyes drank in a poet’s moon

Gold, and bold, and stipple-streaked with grey

Thoughts un-numbered filled my clouded heart

Stumbling stones collected through a troubled day

 

Yet the dinner plate cut through the indigo

Stark, and cold, but warming nonetheless

Speaking eloquent, of seasons richly crowned

Moments though unleashed to harm us, still could bless

 

Lives are tribulation-filled, but joys abound

We, enduring, run from tear to laughter

Cyclical, the harvest must return

Kindling hope, to heal forever after

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3 thoughts on “Harvest Moon

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